Double Dealings
by Irbis
Summary: Sabretooth is still a man on a mission but he'll be facing three problematic fronts. Meanwhile, Mystique finally sets her plans in deadly motion. Ch19: Rescue.
1. The Clone

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **Foreword**

My Irbis Saga is divided into two cycles: the Irbis Cycle proper, and the 'Taming of the Hearts' Cycle. This is the second story in the second cycle.

You do not have to read the first cycle, just be aware that Creed met his match (sort of) in this Irbis OC. In the second cycle there are several plot points of the first cycle that are mentioned but they don't really require going back to read it (if you disagree, let me know). Do note that this cycle is set in an AU that diverges from the canon comic books shortly after M-Day.

Be aware that the stories in this cycle segue one into the next and, even though each story has its own arc (with a few subplots), there is one line that follows all of the stories. If you wish to start this cycle at the beginning, keep in mind the list below

 **Previous stories in the 2** **nd** **cycle and how essential they are to know before you read the current story:**

 **1\. The Proposal** – focus on Remy and Rogue. Not essential to the current story.

 **2\. The Ressurrection** – focus on Creed, Irbis and Lilia. This is an essential read as it explains the basic premise to the whole cycle.

* * *

 **1\. The Clone**

Logan growled on his way up the Parisian street. It was mid-August and, while most locals were gone for their vacations, Paris was stocked up with tourists, like the solid group of selfie-snapping youngsters that was keeping him from going up the street. Walking at a snail pace, either giggling or lolling out loud (because they did go about saying 'lol' as if it were a half-witted alternative to an actual laugh), the group extended from the buildings to the road, not even a foot shy of incoming traffic, and was so tight that Logan just couldn't manage to pierce it through. To make it worse, the girls, who comprised the majority of that crowd, seemed to have bathed in cheap cologne, leaving behind them a cloud of toxic stink. Chewing on his cigar, Logan was careful to inhale the smoke in an attempt to dull his nose as he tried to overcome the group. He just needed to wait till no car was coming down the road... or he could shove a few of the pricks out of his way and to hell with keeping a low key. Ah, an opening! Logan quickly moved onto the temporarily empty lane and overcame the group.

When he finally entered no. 67, Logan had managed to get rid of the phantom scent of the girls' cologne and was feeling less moody. He jogged up the stairs to the third floor and knocked.

"Homme, 'bout time you showed up, non? We started t'inkin' you was lost."

Logan grunted that the tourists had taken over everywhere and followed the Cajun into a wide musty room. The morning sun was shining through the creamy curtains, its warmth accentuating the dusty moldiness while brightening the legs of the chair where Bishop sat, looking intently to six screens. Sam was sprawled on a couch facing a switched off TV.

"Trouble findin' the spot?"

Logan shook his head and asked if Tigard had reached the café.

"About a minute ago," Bishop said. "Hasn't even ordered anything yet."

Gambit humphed with contempt and turned to Logan. "And Petey, ça va?"

Logan sneered. Gambit had admitted to having unwillingly assisted their comrade choose a perfect little diamond ring back in June and, ever since then, he'd been checking the pulse of the comatose proposal.

"He's still swingin' 'tween cold feet an' freezin' feet," Logan admitted. "If someone doesn't give 'im a push, I doubt he'll ever manage t'do it."

Gambit looked at him suspiciously. "I hope y' ain't t'inkin' o' givin' no push. De homme's fine as 'e is... Let 'im enjoy life."

"An' that's why ya ain't ever gettin' the ring yerself, am I right?" Sam laughed from the sofa. "Ah hope Rogue never dreams that's yer reason."

"I love Rogue," Gambit blurted angrily. "I love 'er more 'an _anythin'_ an' I'm stickin' t' 'er through hell an' high water. But marriage, dat is a love killer. I can love 'er enough t' go through it, but I t'ink be better avoid more stress in 'er life, non? Women change when dey get a ring. Makes 'em miserable, marriage."

It sure made some men miserable. Logan couldn't help chuckling, wondering how the Cajun could commit so staunchly and still dread the only logic step to the level of commitment he claimed. It made him wonder how thorough the Cajun's commitment really was, deep down. It was Sam's hearty laughter that enfuriated Gambit, though, and enough so to get him to look at the screens and ask about Sabretooth.

"I thought we were supposed to never mention him by that name," Bishop frowned.

"Is who he is," Gambit griped. "It be best if no one fergets it."

"It'll also be best if no one ever finds out the man is alive," Logan grumbled.

Gambit grunted something in French and Logan got ticked. Gambit had his reasons to hate Creed, fine; what he seemed to forget was that Logan had a whole lot more. And if he was making an effort to make this thing work, the least Gambit could do was toe the line. Especially where it came to not use the alias 'Sabretooth'. It was about time someone got some sense into that swamp rat head of his.

"Creed's a freekin' asshole, but at least he's been tryin' not t'act like one. You, on the other hand, are doin' yer best t'actually act like one."

Gambit turned to him, red pupils shining over the blackness of his eyes. He had better not think about charging any cards, because Logan would really teach him a lesson then.

"Alors, now ya defend 'im, non? He save yer life and ya're all bff!"

Was the guy becoming retarded all of a sudden?

"How's about ya think 'fore ya spit stupid crap like that! Or are ya fergettin' ya've got kids yerself an' that these assholes are just as likely t' try an' get their hands on 'em as they do on everyone else's?" If the sudden flushing was any indication, he hadn't. "I may hate Creed, but that doesn't keep me from respectin' what he's doin' fer his kid's sake."

"He's a psycho! Ya can't trust 'im just 'cause he claims t'be a family man."

"First off, nobody's fergotten nuthin'. Second, if ya bothered t'stop by, ya might realise the man really is takin' his father duties seriously. Third, he wants this mutant-sellin' slave ring brought down and he's willin' t'go a long way fer it. Four, there's never been no matter o' blind trust here, 'cause we are as distrustful of 'im as Creed is distrustful of us."

Gambit was simmering, dying to blast something, but Logan could see he knew he was wrong. As the Cajun growled he was going out for a spin, Sam shrugged and shook his head. Guilt. When a man feels guilty over past mistakes, he will hardly ever feel he deserves a happy turn in his life. Seeing a monster, far worse than what Gambit might see himself as, welcome a good turn like he's deserved it... it just had to eat him alive. Logan couldn't help and wonder if that was why the Cajun kept away from Rogue and their children as much as he did. It could just be the fact that Gambit loved his freedom too much and hated being cooped up in the same place for too long, but Logan still wondered.

"Is that why Cyclops didn't warn Creed?" Logan turned to Bishop, not immediately getting what he meant. "That Mystique's been impersonating Sabretooth."

Logan shook his head. "Creed was worried 'bout this playin' his own clone and all that."

As well he should be. They had a long story, those two, and not just because of Graydon Creed: it was common knowledge they had been lovers long after the whole mess involving their son. She was probably one of the few living persons to actually know Creed well enough to be able to see through this whole clone thing.

"Scotty figured that lettin' 'im know Mystique's been impersonatin' 'im in Paris would just make' im more nervous and... well, he'd either have his cover blown or he'd kill her."

"What if _she_ tells him?" Bishop insisted.

"I reckon that if she does, she'll probably also explain why."

"So," Sam walked over to them, "ya don't think she's tryin' ta lure ya out here, then?"

Logan shrugged. "Why would she wanna do that? If Gambit is right an' she really is involved wi'the slave ring here in Paris, why would they want me t'poke around? It don't make no sense."

But what made sense in the whole story? When Creed had first come to the X-Men for help bringing down the slave ring, he'd brought so much information on the cell operating on the Western Coast that the group had swiftly been taken apart, in a set of joint missions with the FBI department working on Superpowered Affairs. Even though the group's financial details had eluded the breakdown, Creed had already gotten his hands on that information and the X-Men had kept it quiet, following any movements and getting frustrated over how difficult it was to match those financial movements to actual people or organizations. Gambit, however, had managed to match Mystique, or her current Mlle. Chantal Moreau alias, to a rather hefty payment in July, which seemed to imply she had placed a request for someone to be captured. That in itself had been strange news: Raven Darkholme was very well capable of locating and kidnapping whoever she wanted by herself so why pay this slave ring to get the job done?

Gambit, Bishop and Cannonball had spent the last couple of weeks shadowing Chantal Moreau as best they could and had set a number of street cameras on the places she regularly stopped by. Logan could see Creed on screen 4, sitting at an outdoor café Mystique visited at least twice a week, sipping coffee and enjoying the morning sun. The three men had also managed to identify her intermediary, a bearded man by the name of Vincent Gautier, and were now working on identifying all the people he associated with in order to determine who else might be involved in the ring. Unfortunately, he worked at an auction house and dealt with a whole lot of people.

"I thought Kurt was coming in too."

Logan looked at Sam and smirked. "He's on sick leave: Zelig's got a stomach bug. Bobby came in instead."

"Bad luck," the Southerner shrugged. "So, Creed's now a proper family man, huh?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Logan admitted. "But he's a devoted daddy if there ever was one."

"What about his wife?"

"They ain't married," Logan clarified, suddenly thinking about Jubilee and her Justin dramas. "Creed's life revolves around his kid, that's why I said he's all 'daddy' but not 'family-centric'."

Bishop looked up with a 'what?'.

"I mean he ain't interested in no family, just the kid. He pretty much ignores the woman."

"And what are they like?"

"The kid's a completely obsessed daddy's girl but she don't look nuthin' like Creed: she's got dark hair, brown eyes and it seems she's short fer her age too. She's kinda sweet, I guess, but wilful like hell an' can kick up a shriekin' tantrum like ya won't believe it. As fer the woman... she's quiet, distrustful, an' devoted t' the girl as if nuthin' else exists."

"Ya know, I can easily picture him bein' all daddy to a boy, but not a girl. It's just that weird, imaginin' him playin' at tea parties an' dolls."

Logan actually laughed at the sudden image in his head. "The kid's a serious tomboy, Sammy. They play at huntin' or wrestlin' an' climbin' trees an' stuff like that. I mean, he braids her hair like a pro, true, but that's the girliest thing he probably does."

Bishop sighed, and glanced at the screens. It was almost eleven and Mystique hadn't showed up at any of the cafés yet. Creed was on for a long wait, that was for sure. Looking back at Logan, he grunted.

"What I find really difficult to understand is the woman."

Logan shrugged. "If ya ask me, he decided ta get 'imself a woman an' picked one he knew would be too scared of 'im t'do anythin' 'gainst 'im."

"So she is afraid of him."

Logan nodded. Though she was also in love with him. Jubilee had accidentally revealed that one to him, after the girls' night out, and then forced him to swear secrecy. Of course Logan had already been on to something of the sort because, despite the fear he could always smell on the woman when Creed was around, he could also smell some definite arousal, and not just on Creed's end. He wasn't going to bother guessing how that relationship could work, fear and lust hand-in-hand. Maybe she was a masochist. It was none of his business anyway. And he could totally imagine Creed would go into the BDSM thing for as long he was the one dishing it out. But again, it was none of his business. The only thing that pricked his curiosity was that, when Creed had been recovering from his near-death experience, her fear had skyrocketed, according to Hank. Once the man was up and nearly recovered, though, the strength of her fear had slowly toned down. Even if it was none of his business.

"Are they living together? In the Mansion, I mean."

"No," Logan grunted. "Scotty got it in his head that the woman needs rescuein' an' both Kitty an' Jubilee have jumped into the bandwagon."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means they're set on keepin' her away from Creed's influence. Scotty forbade Creed from talkin' t'her over anythin' that doesn't directly relate t' the girl an' Jubes wants the woman t'go partyin' with her every weekend. Started last week wih a girls' night out that had Creed so pissed he could barely focus on baby-sittin'."

"He better not be too pissed today, he'll need his wits about him if he wants to trick Mystique."

Logan grinned. "Jubes got called away t' California, so Creed won't have t'worry 'bout no one stealin' his woman away from under his thumb. He'll be focused." He bit down on his cigar thoughtfully. "He's committed to uprootin' this slave ring targettin' former mutants an' their families and when he's out on a mission, he's as focused and determined as anyone could wish fer."

Besides, Logan could smell the man was itching to get in any woman's pants that came his way. Pissed or not, he was bound to do his best clone impersonation just to get in Mystique's bed.

"What about those toxic slugs you were attacked with? The ones that nearly killed Creed."

Bishop was gazing at the screens again so he didn't see Logan's annoyed smirk. "Jubilee's boy, Justin, got an uncle working wi'the ATF. He told us two weeks ago he'd get in touch with'im so we're waitin' t'hear from him. There's really not much more we can do."

"Oh, yeah, Justin." Sam grinned. "Ah've heard a few things 'bout him an'Jubes. Are they a serious item?"

Logan shook his head. "Ain't sayin' they can't turn out as one, mind ya, but they got a lot t' go through fer that. He's family-centric, ya see, an' Jubes ain't. So either Jubes gets brainwashed," which knowing the kid was 'like, duh, not gonna happen', "or she'll get tired o' family meals an' bail out. Personally, I'm givin' 'em no more than a year. Bobby's runnin' the bettin' pool, if ya're interested."

* * *

There was a summer thunderstorm rolling lazily in the distance as Creed drank a Parisian coffee. Gambit was still sulking around, mostly because he still refused to work alongside Tigard. Asshole. As if having kids of his own wasn't motive enough to leave the past in the past and focus on clearing away all types of danger threatening his cubs. At least Bishop and Cannonball were more practical. He finished the cup and grimaced. If he spent another day sitting on outside cafés sipping coffee after coffee... Couldn't the assholes locate the woman with any type of precision? That thunderstorm had better not come any cl...

"Well, well, well..." A green eyed blonde sat opposite him and Creed had no trouble frowning with discomfort. "If he's not alive after all!"

"Ya've got me confused with someone else, lady. So get lost."

"Oh, cut the crap, Victor. It's been over five years since Logan killed you. You could have let me know it wasn't so."

Creed looked the woman straight in the eyes. Isabel was always going on how women can easily see through men's ruses. She had better be wrong because otherwise he would have to kill Raven Darkholme very dead. And she was not easy to kill.

"Sabretooth is dead."

She laughed. "So who're you?"

"His long lost brother. As in clone."

Raven's face was frozen for a moment between mirth and incredulity. "Are you serious?"

"I don't know if ya've noticed, but clones tend t' have a really short life span. If they ain't gettin' killed 'cause their pretendin' t'be the original, they're gettin' killed by the original. Me? I've been playin' it low key. Survival instinct and all."

That had her roar in laughter, getting folks' attention. By the time she stopped, she had tears brightening her eyes.

"Oh, my! You're certainly funnier than the original."

"And you are... ?"

"Oh, so rude of me. Mystique."

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and grunted. "Shapeshifter. Brotherhood o' Mutants."

"Oh, it's so nice to be known. Uh... I didn't get your name, Mr Clone."

"Business. None o' yer business."

She laughed again. "Come on! I can't go about calling you clone, can I?"

"Hell, no. In fact, don't call me nuthin' 'cause I ain't gonna be callin' you either."

"Does that mean you won't be joinin' me for dinner and a little night cap?"

And risk being found out when he got distracted? Not likely.

"Night cap, huh? You an' my original were what, then? Lovers, an item, what?"

"Oh, just work colleagues with privileges, nothing special."

"Well, lady, I ain't interested in overlappin' with my original's turf so I'll have t' pass."

"Uh-huh. You've got a very boring survival instinct, you know?"

"All the best ones are."

"In the very least, you could pay me a drink." Good thing Raven was naturally curious. It helped Creed keep his show of lack of interest. Shrugging he called a waiter so Raven could make her order.

"So what are you doing in Paris, Mr Business."

"Business."

"What a coincidence! So am I. Who're you doing in?"

Creed looked the woman in the eye. Once again, he didn't have to feign either suspicion or reticence because he felt plenty himself. Raven was no dummy; if anyone could distinguish between him and a supposed clone, it was her.

"There's some folks around kidnappin' kids from some o' those former mutants an' then sellin' 'em t' the highest bidder." Raven's face became serious and he frowned. "Ya knows who I'm talkin' 'bout?"

"Here's a friendly warning," though her face looked everything but. "You may be sailing free of Sabretooth's turf, but you are crossing into mine."

Time to show some genuine interest.

"Look, if we're after the same mark here, I don't see no trouble if we work together. We both get the job done, and we both get our pay. 'Sides, from what I've heard there's plenty guys sellin' former mutants these days, so we may even be after different guys."

"I'm not after anyone."

Creed frowned. "Ya're doin' security detail fer one of 'em?"

She shook her head and stayed silent. Creed gave her time. Eventually she twitched her mouth in a way Creed had come to know as playful over the years.

"Hope that don't mean ya're thinkin' 'bout tryin' t'do me in."

She laughed, careless. "No. But, if you tell me your name over dinner, I may just tell you who I'm shading and how to get to your mark."

Creed drummed his fingertips on the table top as if he was making a difficult decision.

"Dinner next week," he grunted. "I don't like no distractions 'fore the job's done. But the name's Hyde."

"How appropriate."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	2. Under Siege

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **2\. Under Siege**

It was a dark night, no moon and no stars. Isabel was jogging down a winding road in a reddish desert. She had no idea how long she'd been running, but one thing was certain: she couldn't stop. Not before she could get somewhere safe. If only she had a car... Panting, she stopped a moment to catch her breath and glance about her. Behind her, almost at the line of horizon, she could see a car. The windshield shone brightly, reflecting the sun that had long set. They were onto her. Fear sipping into her every pore, she lunged into a sprint, eyes trained on the pitch black horizon. If only she could get to...

"Pappa!"

Isabel was up and out of bed before full consciousness could shake off the frenzy of the desert hunt.

"Pappa, pwease!"

The little girl was speaking in her sleep, Isabel realised as she knelt by her bed, stroking the girl's hair comfortingly as her own breath still caused her chest to heave sharply. Breathe it out, she instructed herself, breathe all those fears out. Scents can influence the dreams of a person with heightened-senses and Lilia... Think happy thoughts.

"Pappa..."

Isabel started singing a lullaby-like song, tender and comforting. Bit by bit, the child whimpered back to a calmer sleep.

They worried her sick, Lilia's bad dreams. The first time, two nights before, Isabel had woken her up and she'd sobbed for Pappa, asking why he didn't want to come, why he'd gone away. Isabel had calmed her down, explained Pappa was hunting big, bad men. He was working hard to keep them safe away from terribly mean men. Lilia had calmed down but... every now and then, the same question came forth: why didn't Pappa want to come back? Explaining he was doing spy work so he couldn't phone barely helped. Isabel could see on Lilia's face she wasn't convinced and, to make it worse, the girl had started sulking. Just like her Pappa. She didn't want Isabel to play with her puppy, Wolfy; she didn't want Isabel to help her get dressed; she didn't want... Oh, she knew it was all part of growing up, but that constant frown on her baby girl's face was daggers to her heart.

It made her nervous over how she would react to the news of the sibling who'd be born in little over five months. Of course there was plenty of time for her to warm up to the idea of sharing Pappa and Mamma with a new baby but... she couldn't help feeling fidgety. Was that why she hadn't talked to Hank yet? She had sworn to herself she would, immediatelly after the second girls' night out, since she wanted to tell the women first. But Jubilee had had to cancel it because she had gone away on an FBI mission so, naturally, she'd postponed it to the next weekend, even if she knew she shouldn't delay talking to the doctor.

"Pappa..."

No. This couldn't go on. Isabel had no idea how the child had gotten it into her head her Pappa wanted to be away, but it had to be fixed and the sooner the better. And that really was something that admitted no delay.

* * *

Nothing like starting a morning with dreadful paperwork. Quite frankly, Emma Frost could not comprehend why Scott insisted in not hiring a secretary. It was maddening, having to go through this every single day! Of course Scott was not the one doing it. Maybe she should go on a month long holiday and let him drown in this little hell. Maybe then he'd come around.

Glancing away from the daily correspondence, she looked at the most recent electricity bill. No. If she went away for a month, the men would simply arrange to have every bill paid automatically and then proceed to forget about it, splurging as if there was no tomorrow. And if neither Bobby nor Logan spent much in the way of air conditioning, they both had a nasty habit of forgetting to switch off the lights. Bobby switched them all as he walked through the house but never switched them off, while Logan acted as if he had no idea light switches existed. Granted that meant he wasn't going about lighting the mansion into a Christmas tree, but it did mean he never switched off any unnecessary lights he came across. As for Hank and Kitty, their computers and random gadgets alone took up half the electricity the Institute used. If Emma didn't go around reminding them to...

"Woofy!" Emma groaned at the shrill voice. "Com'e'e, WOOFY! Don't you wun f'om me, you hea'?!"

It wasn't that she didn't like children, because she didn't, it was more that... Creed's little devil was a screeching, electrified, rude little creature and Creed was fully aware of it or he wouldn't have nicknamed her devil, the little being an understatement. The child had become completely unmanageable over the past week, ever since Creed had resumed going out in missions. Even her mother didn't seem to have control over her anymore.

She was certain Zelig had never been such a rebellious, annoying little thing. Although, if she were to be fair, Zelig had never lived in the mansion for an entire month. Then again, Zelig had a quiet character, almost sweet, and didn't blurt out the first thing that popped into his uneducated little head. At least he hadn't in the last two years. The girl, on the other hand, took after her darling father: stubborn, bossy and shooting out the most barbaric comments at the most outrageous occasions. Things either happened the way she wanted or off she was running her mouth and complaining to Pappa.

At least the man had good parenting skills. She had had to see it to believe it, but it was true. A psychopath he may be to the entire world, but cue in his little darling, and he turned into a patient, understanding man ready to instill notions of fair-play, politeness and social behaviour into his impish offspring. He had even willingly upturned his lifestyle, pretending to be dead, in order to focus on rearing the child in a safe environment.

It sparked her mind with possibilities. Not that Scott was interested in hearing any of it. They were all so set in that definition they had of Creed, that they were effectively blinded to the reality. He was a dangerous ass and a deadly foe, she was not about to argue with it. But could anyone say Logan was less of a dangerous ass? No. Or could anyone say that Magneto was less of a deadly foe? And yet they'd been allies Emma couldn't count how many times and they had even trusted Magneto. Besides that, there was X-23. Emma had been so sure the crazy little weapon was a danger ready to kill her every ally the moment she lost control. In the end, though, she'd been proved wrong. Laura had stepped beyond her limits and, if they asked Emma, had managed to acquire better self control than even Logan could ever dream of. So why not Creed?

She blamed it on the fact the X-Men had mostly been heroes from day one. She had been on the other side, though. She knew things weren't that black and white. Not that she wanted them to trust Creed, not just yet. But if the man could pull a Dr Hyde and Mr Jekyll because of his daughter, then maybe, just maybe, he could be twitched into something less crass and offensive. Something that eventually even learnt to enjoy working alongside the X-Men. Maybe, after a few years, he would even become a sort of Wolverine, brooding over his neurotic feral impulses while mostly acting sane. Or as sane as he could muster. Could anyone say two feral mutants with the training those two particular ones had wasn't every superteam's dream?

Again, Scott wouldn't even hear of it. Sabretooth was still an abusive prick, child aside. Period. If only Emma could convince him to give her plan a try. Not that she had one, not fully finished, anyway. It was very much still in the draft stage. But there was such potential!

With a sigh, she decided to return to the correspondence. Someone had to deal with it, after all. The knock on the door was a welcome distraction.

"Come in!"

She recognised Isabel's emotional pattern before she had opened the door. Here was a perfect pawn for her plan... if only Emma could manage to read her. The shy creature was a well of contradictions.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. Can we talk?"

Emma beamed at a chair.

"How can I be of assistance?"

There was no love lost between the two. Isabel was distrustful of telepaths to the verge of fear so Emma could barely feel anything besides defensive anxiety when they were face to face. To make it worse, Emma couldn't put up with the woman's cool reserve, constantly retreating into herself. It gave Emma the impression of a bomb waiting for the right moment to coldly set itself off.

"Lilia needs to speak wid her fader."

Another thing that annoyed Emma was the woman's obsession with the child. She was probably the one spoiling the brat with all her 'Lilia needs this, Lilia needs that'. Even Jenny wasn't... well, didn't _seem_ to be as child-centric. It was so soccer-mom.

"I'm awfully sorry, but you know Creed is undercover. He really mustn't be contacted unless someone is about to die."

Isabel clenched her teeth and Emma toyed with the idea of doing something a bit more active rather than just forget to put up her mental defences against the emotions of nearby people. The best she'd been able to do was hide herself in the background. She had done it quite a few times so she'd very quickly realised that this fear Isabel had towards Creed wasn't as straight-forward as everyone seemed to think. Yes, she exuded fear whenever Creed was in the same room as she was or whenever his name came up in a conversation, but never as fast or as strong as when Logan or Jubilee were around. And what did those two have to do with anything? Excellent question. Besides that, there was plenty of embarrassment mixed up in her fear. Again, what did embarrassment have to do with fear? Another excellent question. Well, if she couldn't actually peek inside the woman's head...

"I don't mean to be unhelpful, Isabel. So why don't I explain to you just what this mission entails, huh?"

There, curiosity and anxiety. Let's add some fuel, shall we?

"You know Creed has been playing dead to avoid the usual complications that his job entails, right?" Isabel nodded. How interesting the way the woman's eyes were trained on Emma so unashamedly. She usually couldn't stand to hold anyone's gaze. "You know his alias of Sabretooth, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." Impatience, even if if her voice did not betray it.

"And you have no doubt heard about some of his associates," Ha, no she hadn't. Good, good. "Namely, his lover Mystique."

The woman blanched so hard, Emma thought for a minute she might faint. Instead, though, Emma stopped receiving emotional vibes. Shock. Time to push the envelope.

"You know she is a dangerous woman," she said in carefully clear and slow diction to make sure the foreigner didn't miss a single word. "And, even if she doesn't seem to have any particular bonds towards anyone, the fact is lovers tend to look down on the lawful women in their men's lives. Especially when they come into the picture later. I mean, Creed and Mystique go way, way back... Just think about their son, Graydon Creed! He was almost in his forties when he died and they had been on and off for at least a decade before that. You can't give your lover a son and then just pat him in the back and congratulate him for getting a prize wife and a precious little child. Not in their world, not when their mutant powers make them almost eternally young. Can you imagine how difficult it is for a mutant who lives far longer than normal to hook up with a woman that can keep young for just as long?"

Hm. Still no reaction besides the strengthening pallor. Maybe too much shock wasn't the right way to push the woman's emotional buttons after all. Or maybe Kitty's idea that Isabel was in love with the man was way off the mark and the woman simply wanted a father for her child. That could explain her obsession towards the girl, but it didn't explain the embarrassment-fear combination. Right. Time to go onto a new direction, then.

"So, as I was explaining, Mystique is in Europe and she seems to have some sort of involvement with the mutant slavery cell we've located there. Creed made contact two days ago and is now hanging out with her in order to get as much information from her as he possibly can."

Isabel nodded rigidly. No, Emma was not going to get anything useful from this interview. Isabel had become too numb with the news. What a pity! Well, might as well give it one last try.

"Oh, don't worry, Isabel. It'll all be fine! Creed is certainly dying to return to _you_."

Oh, touché! The woman had just breathed in sharply, even if she still wasn't giving off any emotion Emma could pick on. Could Kitty be right after all? The woman was actually in love with... The thought hit her then: Creed! She quickly went over the previous month. Emma had noticed the man avoided interacting with Isabel, but she had put it all down to Scott's warning he'd tolerate no sign of threat or abusive treatment towards her. Creed hadn't wanted to risk a lock down away from Lilia, so he'd blatantly ignored the woman. But could there be another reason? If he, by any chance, was harbouring feelings towards the woman... Oh, she should have paid more attention to his emotions. She should have! Even if Creed was more than used to hiding his...

"Thank you," Isabel said, cold as death, as she started getting up. "I don't interrupt you more."

Not yet, darling. The newest first stage of her plan needed prepping and there is no time like today.

"Oh, don't be silly! You're not interrupting at all. In fact, Scott and I have been talking and I see no reason why we should delay this any longer."

Suspicion rolled softly from her as she sat back again and Emma eagerly slid down that road.

"We know you and Creed are worried that sweet little Lilia has almost no friends and so we thought: why not enrol the little darling in Zelig's pre-school?" Again with the numb-show? Seriously? Emma was never going to get proper emotional readings off the woman if this kept up. "Naturally, they wouldn't be in the same year, but she'd have plenty of new little friends to socialise with."

Maybe Isabel was one of those controlling women who cannot stand to have their child escape their control. Only that was usually a sign of a dominating personality and, even if Emma was willing to bet Isabel wasn't as mindlessly submissive as everyone else was inclined to think, she was pretty certain Creed would not put up with a domineering woman. Hmm. She could feel that exerting control over the child was a way of keeping control over her life, which was actually in Creed's control. Maybe.

"I'm certain you'll love participating in the local parent association. From what Jenny says, they could use some more parents with some free time in their hands. You'd be a true godsend."

The way Isabel nodded and tried a forced smile, it was not a welcoming idea.

"Lilia is going to enter school next year," she said in a deceivingly soft voice.

"Of course. You and Creed have already talked it over and I certainly agree that not every child requires going through pre-school." The woman's nod was more assertive, definitive even. "But I'm certain he will agree it is in Lilia's best interest to socialise with children her age. Don't you think children need to socialise in order to grow up into happy, well-adjusted human beings?"

Not that much, if her face was any indication. Well, emotion or no emotion, one thing was certain: Isabel was either a domineering, obsessive soccer mom or was holding on to her daughter as a lifebuoy. Besides that, she was either in love with Creed or had been brainwashed into a dependent relationship. Once Creed arrived, Emma would get started on pushing the man's buttons to get through his defences and peek into his feelings towards the woman. She already knew more than enough how he felt towards the child, after all. Emma was sure to find possessiveness towards the woman, the big question was whether she might find some sort of finer feelings too. If she did... She'd have to play her hand very carefully if she was going to convince Scott to give in into her wishes.

* * *

Isabel could barely breathe when she got to her bedroom. It was like... like... she didn't know. Her head was swimming. Mystique... Graydon Creed... He was his son! She remembered, almost a life time ago, when she'd mentioned that name and he had... He was his son! His _son_! By Myst... Oh God! Could she be... Victor had called out for Rose when he had started recovering from his ner-death experience. Could they be one and the same? Because if they were... He'd been battling against death. And the first person – the only person! – he'd called for had been... his long time lover. The mother of his son. She was going to throw up. Oh God, oh God, oh God!

She reached for the toilet and rested her head against the wall. Breathe, breathe. It could be someone else. Rose could be another lover that had died or... Oh God. And she put a hand over her mouth to try and keep the tears at bay. Remember that he had not pretended to be dead for no one except for... Oh, quit wishing! Except for his daughter. Not for Isabel but for his daughter. Yes, she was his woman, true. But he didn't love her, had no intention to... Everything he did was for his daughter. He could very well be in love with this Rose, or Mystique... even with both, if they weren't the same woman. He could be in love with _them_ but, since he couldn't have _them_ , he had settled for the second or third or one hundredth best option after _them_. And Isabel knew she had no right to...

With a roar, she punched the wall.

"Stop thinking about him as your man," she told herself in Portuguese, tears streaming down her face. "You got to play at houses with him, make believe you were both... But you knew all along, you _knew_. You know. He is not yours."

Ah, but that killed her inside because he had been happily playing the part of being _her_ man, love or no love, and she... God, it was almost killing her to face the truth now. He was not hers. Had never been, would never be. Kneeling in front of the toilet, sobs breaking freely, she pulled her hair back. It made no difference. In her heart, he was her man. Damn reason and reality, her heart would not feel differently.

Isabel sniffed, trying to calm down. She had to pull herself together. Couldn't let anyone even as much as dream... Breathe out, breathe in. God, she still felt nauseated. Maybe she should just put her fingers down her throat and ease the stomach from breakfast. Yes, it was probably better.

After flushing and brushing her teeth, Isabel washed her face and looked herself on the mirror. Her stomach was still not quite right, but it did feel better. Right. Stop thinking about him and... God. She had wanted to give him a son because she knew men always feel particular about them. The one who'll carry his name into the future. She had wanted it so badly! And where she had failed, his lover (and she couldn't help feeling the nauseating wave of fury and anguish roll over her once more), that worthless mutant who didn't grow old... (why was she getting herself worked up all over again?) she had given him the son he wanted. The son every man wants.

God, stop it! Get over it. There are far more pressing matters at hand. Like school. Victor had agreed that, since Lilia's birthday was in December, it was best to delay her entry into school one year. Give her longer to run about before learning to sit still for a whole day. And they had both agreed she would not go into preschool. She had enough friends in Creston that she could still socialise. Of course things were different here but... and Isabel shook her head. If Lilia went to preschool in New York, she would definitely end up going to school there too. And once that started there was no going back. No. Lilia would not go to any preschool. Victor had one whole year to fix the slave thing with the X-Men because Lilia was not going to school in New York. She wanted her baby girl growing up in a small town, much like Isabel had. To have the chance of walking or cycling to school with her friends and colleagues. Carefree, autonomous, happy.

And if Emma Frost thought she could talk Victor into enrolling the child, she was very much wrong because Isabel would put her and everyone else in their places and to hell if Victor got embarrassed over her assertiveness. Which was another stupidity: he adored her assertiveness back in Canada, he always said. So how come he had asked her to be as quiet as scaredy mouse down here, huh? Why? So they could all carry on thinking he beat her every other day and she was scared of him? God, give her strength!

She stared at herself on that mirror long and hard.

Fine. He was not hers, never had been. But the girl was. She was hers. And there was no one going to take her baby girl away from her influence. She didn't mind if Lilia was jealously attached to Victor; he was her Pappa. But she was her Mamma and no one, but no one, was going to start making decisions that belonged to her and her alone. Not even Victor! Isabel knew that a school in a small town was far better to the outdoor loving child than any big city school. She knew the thrill of cycling with a bunch of friends through empty roads knowing that no big unknown danger lurked ahead. In a big city there was nothing but neurosis yelling in horror at the prospect of allowing a ten year old to walk to school on her own for five or ten minutes. She had met the kids of such parents when she had gone to university. Twenty-year-old girls and boys who needed their mummies and daddies to phone the university to check on deadlines and fill in forms while going ridiculously crazy once booze rolled in on Friday parties, going over every common sense limit because they had no idea where such limits were. Not her daughter. She'd rather Lilia tested all the limits in a small town where everyone knew her and, if need be, could give a helping hand pointing out those limits. Or pulling her up when she tripped on them. Safely.

Isabel opened the tap and washed her face once more. She was still torn inside over Victor but she also felt better thinking about her baby girl. They hadn't been able to take her away from her Pappa and, likewise, they wouldn't be able to take her away from her Mamma.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.

* * *

Hi, Legna! It's so great to hear from you again! And yes, superheroes do need therapy, especially the ones who *think* they're doing just fine.


	3. Choosing a Vic

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **3\. Choosing a Vic**

Mystique was wearing a plain looking face on a plain looking body when Creed got to the restaurant. She had warned him it was an everyday family sort of Italian diner, so he was just wearing jeans and a shirt, much like Mystique herself. One of the waiters took him to his table and he got the chance to get a good look at most of the folks having dinner. Mostly couples and families, as well as a few small groups of young people. At a corner, he spotted three men that got his attention. Two were clearly at ease but the third one seemed nervous. It could be nothing but, besides a very nervous guy facing a woman (probably sweating a proposal in the make), no one else in the joint seemed fidgety. Of course he could just be nervous over someone's late arrival, seeing as they were sitting at a table for four and the waiters hadn't taken away the fourth set of dinnerware.

"I know it's not your type of place," Mystique grinned. "But the food's passable."

"Really? What exactly is my type o' place then?"

"Either fancy enough for the help to be bowing at you or crass enough to have nothing but blood dripping meat and a fight every five minutes."

"Ya're confusin' me with _him_ again."

She laughed. She'd keep poking him until he either made a mistake or she got tired.

"So what is your type of place, huh?"

"Anywhere I can blend in." Her grin widened, mischievous. "Much like this, really."

"Looking like you do, I can't help but wonder where on Earth you go to blend in." He cocked an eye as he bit one of the bread and garlic butter appetizers. "The Canadian wilderness perhaps?"

He shrugged.

"Yeah, sure. There's nuthin' like Canada ta find big blond guys around. Ya know what's even better 'an that? Spain. That place is crawlin' with my look-alikes."

She laughed again, the sound vibrating with ease and just a bit of purpose.

"So you're based where? Germany?"

He chewed thoughtfully before answering.

"I find it smarter not ta be based nowhere. If ya're always on the move, it'll be that harder fer the wrong crowd t'get a fix on ya. You?"

She waved a hand, claiming she got bored easily as the waiter came in with his madams and monsieurs, and with their lasagnas.

"Ya know, I'm a patient guy," that got a hearty laugh out of her and Creed made an effort to frown seriously. "I _am_. But ya got me here t' tell me somethin' and, if ya don't mind, I'd rather hear what ya gotta say 'fore dessert."

"This is just too much," she had that slightly golden twinkle in her eye irises that meant her true self was getting horny. Funny how she could shapeshift perfectly no matter what but have that little telltale sign ruin all the effort. At least for him; he doubted most people could notice it. "I'll tell you something, if you were trying to pretend you were _him_ , you'd get discredited in no time."

Good to know his ruse was working.

"Why's that?"

"No matter where he was, he always had an eye out for any excuse to pick a fight. Even if he was in a fancy place surrounded by whimps. Especially if! But you, you've got this whole..."

She once more waved her hand, her eyes going over his body, tip of the tongue brushing hungrily against her lips. Creed tried not to smell in the teasing scent of the woman's arousal. That was one type of scent he usually found difficult to ignore, but having been cooped up with the X-morons for nearly two very chaste months, he was starting to find himself on the verge of ending dinner and getting the woman somewhere else, fast.

"This whole 'I'm so good, the assholes around don't even exist in comparison'. It's really very refreshing. Very... manly, if you know what I mean."

Oh, he knew alright. Still he wiggled, slightly uncomfortable in the chair, getting another laugh from the woman. Fortunately, she couldn't as much as dream that Isabel used to say something along those lines. Even last January, when a group of tourists had stopped by Creston, military most of them. They'd been full of themselves and, as usual when cocky assholes showed up, Isabel had scorned them, saying real men were above cockiness and boasting. Real men didn't need to start a fight to show how big and bad they were, because people just glanced at them and knew. Like him, Victor, she'd purr, brown eyes more enticing that Mystique's flashing golden ones. He never needed to intimidate anyone because even just sitting anonymously in a diner, any guy with eyes would know to keep his distance while every woman, eyes or no eyes, would...

"See the guy who's just come in?"

Creed snapped from the memories, deep breath to get his woman off his mind, and noted the short, dark haired and dark bearded man in his forties.

"He's yer mark?"

"No," she sneered. "I'm doing business with him."

Creed cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't mean ta meddle but what the hell is a former Brotherhood of Mutants dealin' wi' these assholes. I could get it if ya told me ya was out t'kill the whole lot fer persecutin' former mutants and all that, but actually doin' business wi' them?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's just a service like any other."

"What d'ya mean?"

"For someone who doesn't want to meddle, you ask a whole lot of question, Hyde."

He shrugged a just curious and went for a purposefully amateur mistake, nodding towards the corner where the four men were now talking conspiratorily.

"He's the one I can't touch, then?"

Naturally, it pissed her off and she hissed an angry yes.

"Hope they don't stick around fer too long," he said half to himself, then he looked up at Mystique's quizzical expression. "I wanna stop by the table and get a good sniff of his scent. Wouldn't want ta mess up yer deal by mistake."

She frowned, incredulous, and nearly looked back at the men's table before leaning over to Creed.

"You mean to tell me you can't catch his scent from here? Weren't you supposed to be Sabretooth's clone?"

Creed twitched his nose in an obviously annoyed way in order to hide a smirk of satisfaction.

"I don't know if ya're aware, but _he_ had a few more decades of intensive practice than me, and it ain't exactly easy ta connect a face to a specific scent from far in a room full o' people."

Mystique lifted both hands in a cheeky apology, an amused grin on her plain-looking mask of a face.

"I'll be sure to book us a closer table next time." Creed looked peevishly at his half-eaten lasagne and forked some more. A foot suddenly sliding down his thigh prevented him from swallowing though. "I do hope they hurry up too. I've planned a busy night."

Damn it! If the woman had an inkling of how long he'd been playing the monk... Creed felt himself going red from the effort to swallow while maintaining Hyde's pretence of patience and tame civility, especially when he heard the woman croon over how cute a blushing guy is. At least she would never even dream he was anything but a freeking clone. Creed shook his head, forced the food down and took a deep breath.

"My mark is the short one, by the window." He grunted, seething inside at the heat still simmering in his face.

" _Him_?"

There was something in her tone that helped his body start getting in check. Not looking up, he nodded a uh-huh and took another bite of his lasagne.

"Friend o' yers?"

Creed had no idea who the guy was. Gambit had gotten the name of Mystique's bearded middle man, Vincent Gautier, but the other three guys had never been made on any previous surveillance stints. However, since Creed would have to point a supposed mark for Mystique to be happy and his cover to be kept, he had chosen one of the group. The fidgety guy looked too unprofessional to be chosen for a legitimate mark, while the runt he'd picked looked calm but keenly aware of things around him.

Mystique chewed on her last bit of lasagne and wiped her mouth clean. Creed felt mildly uncomfortable. He hoped he hadn't...

"Excuse me," and Creed quickly gripped her wrist as she got up.

"Don't ya play no games wi' this, woman," She had better realise Hyde might be tame, but was not safe to toy with, even if Creed couldn't forget Hyde didn't want to get involved in memorable shenanigans. "If that one's off limits in yer eyes, I'd better learn about it ASAP an' fix the problem 'fore it escalates stupidly."

Creed let her go the moment she clenched her muscles to pull herself free.

"If you're really so set in keeping out of the big fish radar, you might want to throw the towel on this job. That guy's a bodyguard to someone I don't want anyone touching. Not until I've got what I want."

Eyes ablaze, she walked away, towards the restroom, he quickly realised. Seeing an opening, he got his mobile and punched the first number.

"I picked my mark," he muttered before Cyclops could say a word on the other side. "Short, dark haired, coal suit, purple tie in a group o' four guys. He's a bodyguard to some sort o' big fish Mystique doesn't want touched. Better if ya pick 'im up tonight once he leaves the restaurant, but leave me out o' the stint, ya hear? I don't wanna risk gettin' my looks associated to my Tigard alias."

"Fine. But get ready to act if we don't identify him or somehow lose his track."

Creed glanced about the restaurant, feigning boredom while waiting, and, as his eyes went over the group, he took a very deep breath in, frowning in concentration as he parsed all the scents in the air and tried to pinpoint his recently chosen mark's. Mystique had way too much faith in his ability to identify folks' scents in a crowd. Sure he had four scents for those four faces, but who owned which was a matter better fixed by getting closer to them.

"Oh, by the way, stay clear o' Vincent Gautier: he's Mystique's contact and I don't want her thinkin' I'm gettin' in her way, got it?"

"We'll keep watch over him but that's all. See if you can get any more names."

Mystique was approaching from behind.

"Will do," he said while switching off and putting the phone away. He offered her a placatory grin. "Yer guy's safe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She was still pissed but he pretended he hadn't noticed it.

"Just got in touch with my team." He grinned at her frown. "I don't do the lone wolf thing. Anyways, I just let 'em know yer guy's off limits."

She huffed.

"You're a real box of surprises, aren't you, Hyde?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the men call the waiter and ask for the bill. Hoping he didn't sound impatient, he allowed an honest wolfish grin spread through his face.

"They're leavin' in a minute," he warned her, licking his lips. "So maybe I'll get ta show ya just how surprisin' I can be."

"Well, you really only need to be half the man _he_ was to make me happy. But seeing you're his sloppy seconds," Creed breathed in to keep himself from reacting to the provocation. He'd have to spend the night biting his tongue not to let the wrong thing slip, but damn if it wouldn't be worth it. "Maybe you'll even manage to get me near his trademark ecstasy."

* * *

I've forgotten to mention it, in case anyone's interested, but I'm uploading a collection of 'sketches' I created as a way of adjusting how Creed and Isabel's relationship works. It picks up after the end of 'Taking the Tiger' and goes all the way to just before 'The Ressurrection' begins. I've named it 'Hidden Years'.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	4. The last straw

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **4\. The last straw**

"Já chega, Lilia!"

But the girl swiftly escaped her mother's hands and dove under the bed.

"Lilia Vitoria, tu não me faças perder a paciência!" But there were no threats that could get Lilia out of under the bed and much less to put on her shoes.

Tears of frustration welling up, Isabel took a deep breath and sat down. She needed to calm down. Isabel had spent every day battling her own anger since talking to Emma Frost, and every night battling her fears and nightly ghosts. Lilia could smell those emotions and, naturally, she reacted to them. Was there any wonder the child had been throwing angry tantrums on a daily basis then? If her own mother couldn't keep herself in check... Finding the strength to pull both her fears and anger into herself, down deep and out of sight, Isabel took another deep breath.

"Lilia." No answer came to her. "Lilia, vem cá à Mãe, amor. A Mãe não ralha mais. Deixa lá estar os sapatos e vamos só comer, está bem?" But there was still no answer.

Forcing the fake calm to remain, Isabel gave in to the fact that Lilia had simply gotten a bit earlier to the teenage stage of refusing her Mamma's language and embracing solely the English that surrounded her. It was ok. Isabel knew that stage would show up one day. So what if it was years before she had expected it?

"Lilia, my love, come here to Mamma. You don't have to put de shoes… Let's just go down and have breakfast, OK?"

"No!"

Good thing Scott Summers and Robert Drake had returned from Europe the evening before, saying the mission was well under way. Maybe it was almost over.

"After we eat breakfast," Isabel continued softly, "we ask Mister Summers if today we can phone Pappa."

The girl didn't answer, but Isabel could hear her little heart going over the possibility. She waited and forced an assuring smile when the little head popped out, wet eyes glaring at her. Another two seconds and she was getting up, defiant pout in place.

"Vamos?" Isabel put out a hand for the child to take, knowing she would take a long time to admit defeat – even if only partial – and accept her hand. Isabel smiled: she was so much like Victor.

"I ask Miste' Summe'."

Isabel agreed with a soft smile, hoping against all hope that the man would say yes. Please, say yes. But when she got up to lead Lilia downstairs, the girl raced to the door to block it and set down one last condition:

"And you don't talk to Pappa. On'y I talk to Pappa. Not you."

Isabel was unsure for a moment. Not that she had any hope of talking to him, or of him talking to her. But Lilia's jealousy over Pappa was growing and it stood to reason that it was wise to check it.

"Love, I know you miss Pappa. And Pappa misses you very, very much, too. But you don't think he'll be sad if he doesn't talk to Mamma?"

Lilia shook her head resolutely. "He don't wike you."

Isabel froze, her mind thoughtlessly echoing that preposterous idea.

"Lilia…"

"Pappa don't wike you."

Lilia's staunch insistence snapped something inside her. She didn't know what had given the child that idea but it must be uprooted fully. Slowly, breathing out the anger softly so as not to transfer it to the child, Isabel kneeled in front of the little girl, but her brown eyes seemed to send flashes of rage (so much like her father, she couldn't help thinking, so much…) and Isabel's hands closed into fists. Emma Frost? Scott Summers? Bobby Drake? Logan?

" _Who_ told you dat?"

"Ev'yone knows Pappa don' wike you. 'Cause you's af'aid o' Pappa and Pappa don' wike sniv'ing cowa'ds and you's a sniv'ing cowa'd and Pappa _hates_ you."

"Lilia," Isabel felt like a statue of ice, by then, the word 'hate' echoing in her mind, "You listen me."

If only she could tell her to smell the truth of her words. But no, because she was too young to use her senses consciously. She reacted to the emotions she smelled around her, but she wasn't truly aware of them. Victor had said there was plenty of time to teach her to do it. Plenty of time!

"I am _not_ afraid of…"

"Yes, you a'e! Ev'yone knows'at. It's why Pappa go away and neve' say nothin' and don'wanna talk t'you, and he don'wanna talk to me, 'cause he hates you, and I hate you too." The little face twisted in a giant pout and Isabel could see the pain and hurt under all the anger still lighting her daughter's eyes. "I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!"

A sudden cramp took away her breath and forced her eyes shut. In that precise moment, Lilia was turning around and opening the door.

"Lilia!"

Isabel heard only the girl's wailing as she ran through the corridor, calling for her Pappa… Isabel closed her eyes again when another cramp seized her harder. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the door knob to help pull herself up. Her hands and legs were shaking, and she wasn't surprised when she saw blood staining the crotch of her jeans.

"Minha Nossa Senhora… Por favor, por favor!"

Her weight on the door forced it close, and she had to lean on the wall before she could open it again. But then an even stronger cramp forced her down, a second one hard on its heels. The bedroom was starting to swim and darken all around her and she immediately put her head down until her forehead touched the ground.

Victor, her mind screamed; but her voice could only muster a whimpered 'help'. She had to get up, but the pain was too strong. Stretching a hand for the door knob, Isabel was too focused on the task at hands to feel the tears burning down her frozen face. She grabbed it and pulled the door open, but it hit her legs and the momentum made it bounce off and close itself again. The cramps were relentless, by now, and she knew she wouldn't be able to leave by herself.

"Help," she forced her throat again, "help!"

But her voice refused to speak up. She gasped for air as she felt something move inside her, smoothly and surely. Cold, numbing despair forced her up on her knees, and this time the door stood open for her. Isabel crawled out. So small, she could feel it inside her… almost not inside her anymore. So small it caused no pain at all; not even discomfort. It was only the cramps...

"Ajudem-me!" And the tears now ran freely, now that she could only feel the blood's wetness and the crippling cramps. "Alguém…"

The darkness returned to the edge of her vision, and Isabel tried to lower her head again. She could see the blood-soaked jeans and floor. A little voice in her head quipped its surprise: so much blood! Isabel felt herself frozen with true fear, now. It was too, too much blood. She had been frightened when she had first realised what was happening, but then she had only feared the inevitable. This… All this blood… And she hadn't told anyone! God, she'd been so angry after that conversation with Emma Frost that she had completely overlooked... If she lost too much blood and they tried to give her a blood transfusion… if she was unconscious and couldn't tell them…

"Help!" The darkness was still there, waiting to overcome her. "HELP!"

Isabel laid down her head. She would lose consciousness soon and there was obviously no one around. Touching the crotch of her jeans, she started writing:

NO B

Isabel shook her head, as the darkness blotched her writing.

LAD

no time

TRANSFU

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	5. Miscarriage

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **5\. Miscarriage**

"PAPPAAAAA! I WANT MY PAPPAAAA!"

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Lilia screeched only the higher if anyone tried to reach for her.

"PAPPAAAAA!"

Kitty, having exhausted all her attempts to sooth the child, groaned and looked at the door, hoping to see Bobby enter with Isabel.

"I WANT MY PAPPAAAAA-AAAAAAAA!"

Massaging her forehead in annoyance, Frost once more tried to get some common sense into everyone else's heads.

"It wouldn't hurt the child in anyway. It would just shut her up!"

"You are not going inside her head and that's final!"

"Emma, Kitty's right. You can't…"

Not giving up, Emma tried to warm Scott to her idea.

"I'd just sooth her, Scott, make her fall asleep."

"Emma, I said no!"

"Oh, yes, of course! It isn't good to telepathically sooth a child, and I suppose it's any better to let her scream everyone's ears off until she sooths herself?"

"May I humbly suggest you make your exit and start working on our unwilling guest while the child calms down?"

Emma glared at McCoy, who was calmly watching the chaotic situation while covering his ears with two mugs, but before she could answer they could hear Bobby yell "HANK" at the top of his lungs.

"As if one screeching child wasn't enough," Emma grumbled.

"HANK!" Ice opened the kitchen door wide as Bobby slid in holding Isabel's body, bloodied jeans dripping onto the ice slide the mutant had formed ahead of him.

"Oh, my stars and garters…"

"Don't just stand there! She's bleeding all over me!"

"What happened?" Scott asked, going after Bobby and Hank while they raced for the infirmary.

The kitchen was momentarily silent. Both Kitty and Emma stared at the ice platform and the blood that had fallen over it, unsure of what had just happened. Then they glanced at one another and at the girl, still standing in the middle of the kitchen. Noticing their eyes, Lilia looked at each one of them, face wet with tears and eyes wide in confusion. She sobbed one deep breath, her chin twisting in a deep pout.

"PAPPAAAAA!"

"No no no, Lilia…"

The moment Kitty reached the child's side, though, she closed her eyes and collapsed onto her arms.

"Emma!"

"Oh, give me a break! She'll be asleep for the next seven or eight hours instead of crying over Pappa and Mamma. And seeing as one is off in Europe, and the other is bleeding away in the infirmary, just be glad I didn't knock her out for the next twenty-four hours."

* * *

Emma was annoyed when she reached the detention area. They were all bound to get Creed back in the Institute because of this; Scott was probably making the call right now. But it seemed to her that the priority was keeping him by Mystique's side, getting her trust (or as much trust as the woman was likely to award anyone) and her secrets. Of course Emma would love to witness Creed's reaction and gauge his feelings but, quite frankly, they all had to make some sacrifices in order to dismantle the slave cell, didn't they? Emma was willing to sacrifice her curiosity towards Creed's familial relationships, for example. Why shouldn't Creed sacrifice coming back to check in on Isabel and Lilia in order to obtain more information? After all, Isabel would hardly notice either way and the child... well, a little mental tweeking and she'd believe Pappa'd been there and gone. Unfortunately, Creed wouldn't be able to stay in Paris working Mystique even if he wanted to. Scott wanted him back, he'd come back. Isabel really should have timed the whole melodramatic scene for at least a week later.

Turning left, away from the large room that housed Creed's room-cell, she approached the interrogation room. It had no windows allowing people to look in, but there was a wide screen next to the door which had exactly the same effect, or better, because they could switch through several cameras to analyse different perspectives.

The short dark haired man was lying on a cot at the farthest end, apparently slumbering. Gerard Picard. She typed on a virtual key pad and part of the screen offered a short biography: French national, 28 years old, single, had been in the military and was now working for MTR Secure, a French security company.

The man stood up the moment Emma opened the door. Not that he could do anything: there was a glass-like wall separating him from the entrance. The alien material was hard enough to sustain several attaks from a strong human and it had a door fashioned into it towards the left. Emma had no idea of actually sitting at the interrogation table on the other side, though. There were a couple of chairs on this side and she sat on one, crossing her legs.

"So, Gerard Picard, shall we start our interview?"

The plan had been Emma's, having Creed go undercover as his own clone. Creed had refused at first, but she'd pointed out that, sooner or later, someone would recognise him. After all, while most people only knew his uniformed identity, long time enemies and allies knew his face. On the other hand, if he started dropping hints of the existence of a quiet, unassuming little clone... unless someone was after Sabretooth's genetic material, most people would just have no interest on him whatsoever.

"What is the name of your current employer?"

Kidnapping people had not been part of the plan. Emma could almost understand that Logan would follow Creed's suit, but Scott really should know better. Or was it really that preposterous to think that a clone of Sabretooth could simply be setting a watch on someone? Apparently it was, because his cover story had very naturally become that he was to take out a specific vic. She should have gone to Paris with them to instill some sense into those brawling brains.

"Je sais que vous parlais anglais, monsieur. Alors, parlais! Tout de suite."

She would have to go inside his head. If she had gone to France in the first place, she could have done the exact same thing without any need of kidnappings that could get unnecessary attention.

"Have it your way," she grumbled as the dark-eyed man remained immobile on the other side, teeth clenched in silent determination. "Lie down and relax."

That had been a mental order and despite the man's efforts, the body obeyed promptly. Emma knew he was trying to speak, now, to protest, but she had telepathically shut down his speech ability. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and plunged in. She purposefully picked a memory to land inside the man's head but ended up finding herself in a dark room. He had had training against telepaths. If the man had been relaxedly sleeping at his home, Emma would have easily overcome that training. Instead she was now going to have to work hard in order to rip little pieces of information. Perfect, just perfect.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	6. The Devil is in The Details

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **6\. The Devil is in The Details**

It was early in the afternoon when Hyde sat up in bed and reached for a cigar. An unamused chuckle got his attention. Raven's bright red eyes were spying him from the pillow, lips twisted in a careless sneer.

"You smoke the same cigars as _he_ did."

"Guess he had good taste, then."

He should have remembered to bring a different brand of cigars. Better yet, no cigars.

"The same upright stamina too," the constant comparison was starting to get on his nerves but he just closed his eyes and tried to savour his cigar. It was what she wanted anyway, to get under his skin. "But you're much more quiet than _he_ ever was."

He held back the growl but not the annoyed groan.

"If ya wanna kick me out, just say so."

She snickered and stretched every muscle in her cat-like frame. Those hardened, well-toned muscles were something Isabel would never have and Creed couldn't help but enjoy the view. Funnily, though, he didn't seem to find her blue tone as exotic and appealing under the midday sun as it had been in the past. Raven pulled herself to her knees and straddled his legs.

"Why on earth would I want to kick you out, huh? I'd much rather you unwound and freed yourself a bit more. You're much too uptight."

Keep dreaming. Caution was the name of the game here, no matter how good a lay Raven might be. Or precisely because of how good a lay she was. He might forget himself for a moment and let something slip.

"Ya're too much of a nag. Why don't ya put that pesky mouth o'yers ta good use, huh?" She laughed and slid backwards, apparently willing to do just that. Creed decided to play her 'he game' a bit. "I swear I don't know how _he_ put up wi'that poisonous tongue o' yers. Should have ripped it off."

"Never," she taunted, waggling her expert tongue just an inch off her target. " _He_ loved its skills way too much to ever even dream of it."

Creed closed his eyes, smirking at the truth of her statement as she got down to business. Oh, yeah. One night and morning wasn't even close to making up for the month and a half of forced celibacy, but it sure felt... His body froze at the ring of his cell phone. Raven interrupted herself to study his face and Creed growled, getting off the bed.

"What?"

"Pick up in twenty minutes," was the only thing from the other side.

Weird. Had anything gone wrong with the mark? Although it had been Bishop who'd made the call, which seemed to imply that Cyclops, Iceman and Colossus had left for the States with the guy in tow, as planned, leaving behind only Gambit, Bishop, Cannonball and Wolverine. Creed glanced at the woman, scrutinising him from the bed with a clearly fake look of boredom.

"Change o' plans," he grunted. "New job."

She grinned, unconvinced. "Well, you sure got them lined up, don't you?"

"I got a team, remember? If we's all gonna live the good life, we gotta pick the good ones as they show up." He started getting dressed. Twenty minutes was not much time, especially since he needed to take measures if he was going to make sure he wouldn't be followed. "Ya're sticking around fer long?"

She shrugged. "It'll depend."

Creed was buckling his belt, ready to get his jacket and make himself scarce.

"Maybe I'll call in if I stops by Paris again."

"Maybe you should, Mr Hyde. Maybe you should."

* * *

Creed took thirty minutes to the extraction point and was surprised to see the jet ready to fly back to the States.

"What the hell's gone wrong?"

"Bad news," Logan said. Creed noticed the runt was eyeing him carefully, as if gauging his reaction so he hardened himself against whatever was coming. "Isabel had a miscarriage."

Ah! Creed adjusted the seatbelt. He hoped she was ok, though she would be, naturally. She'd never had anything worse than some cramps and bleeding before. Of course the X-Morons would be all afflicted, though. He decided against saying they might as well stick around in Paris. Isabel knew what had to be done plus she had the doctor around, not to mention prissy Summers didn't want him talking to the woman, so he really couldn't imagine why they'd want him to abandon the mission and fly for four long hours back to... Hmm, Lilia. Last time, the girl hadn't really understood what was wrong with Mamma, just that she was sick, but perhaps this time around she'd gotten upset. Yeah, that was probably it. Well, he hoped Isabel had gotten around to explaining the basics of what had happened by the time the jet landed, that way he'd only have to assure the girl everything was fine. Isabel was way better than him at explaining some life facts. Well, four hours wasn't really that long, not if you compared it to the eight hours of a regular plane. Thank god for the team's supersonic jet, huh?

"So, did ya manage ta catch the guy last night? Who's he?"

Even Bishop, at the commands of the jet, glanced back at him.

"Yah're not goin' t'ask 'bout Isabel?"

Creed glanced at the southerner and opened his mouth to speak but held back a snarky remark. The boy didn't hang around the Mansion so he really had no way of knowing that Summers chewed Creed's ears off every time he asked about the woman.

"The runt has just told me 'bout her, in case ya ain't heard 'im. On the other hand, I'm still in the dark when it comes t' this body-guard. So who's he?"

"Gerard Picard." Logan grunted. "He's bein' held in the underground, back at the Institute. Emma will be in charge o' the mental questionin'. If all goes well, we'll go back t' Paris in the next 24 hours so ya can finish getting intel from Mystique. When we got everythin' we need, Emma'll make 'im believe he managed t'escape his kidnappers an' he'll go back t'business as usual. Sort of."

Good. Mystique had something up her sleeve and he wanted to know what. He wasn't sure if the others could see the implications of Raven Darkholme using a kidnapping service. She was the type to do things herself because she knew she wouldn't fail. If she was paying some base-line human assholes to do it for her, it was probably not because she couldn't pull it off, but because she didn't want herself to be associated to the kidnapping. Why? She was a shapeshifter, she wouldn't get associated to it unless she wanted to. Or unless she was planning to hit someone who knew her well enough to see through her shape-shifting. The question was who. If it was a well-established villain, it meant nothing; but if it was some sort of hero or X-ally, Creed would need to raise warning bells. First, though, he needed to get a few more hints from the woman.

"Ya did hear me when I said Isabel was pregnant an' lost her baby, right?"

Creed frowned at Logan. _Our_ baby, he corrected in his mind.

"That's usually what 'miscarriage' means, ain't it?" He grunted. "But since McCoy is at the Mansion, I'm pretty sure he fixed the problem. Or didn't he?"

Logan looked away with scorn. "He always does."

Creed held back a growl. He knew Isabel was well taken care of at the doc's hands and, knowing her history, she'd be as good as new in a week. As much as he'd welcome the opportunity to have a word with her, he was far more interested in the real reason why he was being taken back to the States.

"D'ya know if Isabel got around t'explain what happened t'Lilia?" Logan looked back at him, still frowning. "Is she much upset?"

"Yeah, she was. They figured it was best if she had some sleep till ya got back."

Weird. Did that mean they were keeping the child away from her Mamma for over four hours? He was sure Isabel would manage to pretend everything was fine for a few minutes to calm down her daughter. Perhaps she had fainted. Or maybe she was still bleeding and Isabel didn't want the girl to feel the scent of so much blood. Yes, that made sense.

* * *

Creed was standing near the window, very still and looking as inexpressive as possible: he didn't want anyone to realise he was worried. Summers had directed him straight to his office, saying Lilia was asleep in her bedroom. The problem was that Lilia didn't just sleep for hours in the morning, which meant they had given her something to sleep. Then there were those long faces. If someone had been on their death bed, they wouldn't have looked half as somber.

"Isabel is sleeping too." Summers said as he closed the door. "But Hank will come down shortly to talk to you in more detail."

Pryde was glaring at him as if she wanted him dead. Of course they were blowing things out of proportion, no surprise there.

"Still, I can warn you she needs absolute rest for a few days." Summers said, crossing his arms. "And she's not to be upset. With anything."

The last sentence was thrown at him and Creed felt himself twist inside, wanting to maim the man for insinuating HE, of all the people in the world, could upset Isabel. Summers held his glare squarely, Logan half-reclined on a chair and apparently relaxed. He wasn't glaring, unlike Pryde, but there was something to his gaze that was uncomfortable. As if he was waiting to see if he did or said something wrong. McCoy's swift footsteps were suddenly heard approaching. A little voice resonated in the back of his mind, telling him there was something wrong with this whole situation, even if he couldn't glimpse what it could be. Or maybe he could! If Logan had ratted him out, saying he hadn't asked about Isabel, they could have gotten upset over it. It was such a hassle! One day they were chewing him off for talking to Isabel or asking about her, the next day they were chewing him off for not doing so. How was he supposed to guess when he could and couldn't ask about her anyway? Annoyed, he forced a mask of lack of expression onto his face and set it firmly in place.

He didn't flinch a muscle not even when the blue man entered.

"I apologize for my tardiness." McCoy faced Creed the moment he closed the door. He seemed tired but also irritated, and Creed didn't miss the recent cuts on his hands. He wondered where he'd gotten them briefly. "Isabel became very agitated when she woke up and had to be given a tranquilizer."

Creed frowned. Did the woman's agitation have anything to do with the doctor's injured hands? If it did, then Isabel wasn't 'very agitated', she was out of her mind. She needed him, and she needed him ASAP. But why would she...

"I understand you've been informed of her present situation?"

McCoy glanced at Summers, who nodded affirmatively, and then back at him, waiting for a reaction.

If Isabel had lost track of where she was and with whom, she would either play dead or try to run away, attacking whoever might be on her way. McCoy's wounded hands implied just that, which meant the matter really was serious.

"Miscarriage." Creed ended up answering, keeping his voice cold and even.

It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't been keeping track of how many weeks along her pregnancy had been. There had been so many doomed pregnancies, he had ended up realising it was easier not to make a big deal out of them. Less pain. Isabel did pretty much the same, as far as he was aware.

"Isabel has been in a great deal of stress, lately." The Doc's voice was harder and Creed let go of the idea of counting weeks to pay full attention to the information he might be given. "First, she has been under a great deal of distress ever since her arrival, which seems to have become progressively aggravated. Secondly, she exhausted herself by obsessively insisting in taking care of you twenty-four hours a day, when you were wounded, last month. She did not recover physically from that exertion, and has been furthermore overloaded with emotional turmoil as of late."

Creed frowned hard. Were they trying to say the miscarriage had been his fault? Because she had been playing the nurse to him? Something wasn't adding up.

"Her miscarriage was an unfortunate consequence of her, now physical and emotional, exhaustion."

He hardly held back the 'No' that rushed to his lips. That was wrong. Isabel's miscarriages had nothing to do with exhaustion. They never had had. She miscarried because the baby – no, the embryo – the embryo got severe anaemia and died.

"Can I infer from your silence that you were aware of Isabel's pregnancy?" Creed blinked and said he did know. "Hmm. And can I also infer you weren't particularly happy with the pregnancy?"

This was definitely all wrong, and Creed was starting to get irritated at not understanding what the man was trying to get at.

"What's that gotta do with anythin'? She was pregnant an' now she ain't no more. It's no big deal…"

"No big deal!?" Kitty ignored Summers weak warning to calm down and planted herself in front of him. "She's just had an abortion! _She LOST HER BABY_!"

It suddenly occurred to him that everyone was acting as if they didn't know about her miscarriage history. He wondered why Isabel wouldn't have told at least the doctor about that. But then again, it had become pretty obvious she hadn't told anyone about her being pregnant either. But why not?

"You stone-hearted monster! You didn't even ask ab…"

"I wanna talk ta Isabel."

She must have had a good reason for keeping it all under wraps. At least Creed hoped she had had one. He'd be royally pissed if she had kept silent because of some ridiculous trust issues. She had that stupid tendency to act as if she had a blasted healing factor and every doctor was out to kill her. It was something beyond his comprehension – and he didn't like doctors either.

Kitty stuttered with the unexpected interruption for merely a moment. "No! You…"

"Katherine, please." McCoy's body language was yelling signs of impatience, despite his apparently calm voice, and it only further spiced Creed's own impatience. He did not have time for this crap right now. "I believe you do not understand the gravity of the matter, Creed. Isabel had a severe haemorrhage, accompanied by high fever. She was violently delusive for some time, and is still far from recovering both physically and emotionally."

The man paused, his eyes searching for something, and Creed growled slightly, masking how hard he had swallowed. Severe haemorrhage? High fever? What the...?

"Now answer my question: were you unhappy, upset, annoyed or simply uninterested in anyway over her gestation?"

"No," he spit through clenched teeth. He needed to see her. He needed to feel her scent and make sure she was alright now. "I had _no_ problem with it."

Of course he had no problem with her being pregnant! He had agreed to that second kid, dammit. But she had miscarried so often, for crying out loud, and never had she had the slightest problem. Just a couple week long bleeding, some cramping, hardly even any fever... That Canadian doc of Isabel's, Angie Dalton, had actually told him a few times it wasn't healthy for Isabel to insist so stubbornly every six months like clockwork, but what was he to do? Go back on his word? The woman would have been royally pissed and for what? Isabel was dead set on trying one more time for a boy (though he didn't understand that obsession, he'd always thought women's first choice was girls) and it was simply not worth the trouble to go against the woman when she was running on die-hard stubborness. Besides, she was the one going through the pain of her failed pregnancies of her own volition, he had no business meddling.

"Can you surmiss what reason might Isabel have had to keep her gestation hidden from everyone?"

"How should I know?" He finally roared, releasing some of the still building tension. God, it had better be a hell of a good reason! "Do I look like a freakin' telepath ta know what's goin' on inside the freakin' woman's head?! Why don't ya ask _her_?"

Creed turned his back to them, avoiding their anger so as to better control his own anger. He needed to think. Why had this miscarriage gone so wrong? Because she was tired? He started doing the math: Isabel had arrived about... mmm, six weeks ago. Creed had already been with the X-Men for one week.

"Your disregard for Isabel's health is appalling, Creed." The icy voice bounced off him, engrossed as he was in his maths. Adding in the six weeks when he'd been preparing to contact the X-team plus the one week for the form filling and general bureaucracy, it meant Isabel had been over fourteen weeks pregnant... maybe fifteen or sixteen. Far longer than usual. "How can it not bother you that she had a miscarriage? I expected more than that for the mother of your child."

Oh, so that was it! Their sensitivities were all appalled at his insensitivity. He growled. His patience was down to the limit and he needed to get the damned goody-two-shoes some sense of perspective of the whole business if he didn't want them to lock him up or, worse even, to keep him from seeing Lilia.

"Look, ya ass-hole: Isabel's got a rare blood type that makes her miscarry. I knows it, she knows it… and apparently she decided ya weren't worth knowin' it." Which, unless she had a really good reason, had been one of the most stupid things the woman had ever done. "And that's why her miscarriages ain't no big thing. 'Cause it's what's normal ta happen! 'T least fer her it is."

He paused and glared at the X-Morons' shocked expressions.

"Wait a minute; her _miscarriages_?" Kitty asked, but McCoy had already moved into attack mode.

"This overcomes every limit! You knew Isabel was pregnant; you knew she was Rh-sensitized; and you knew she miscarries often. Yet it did not occur to you that you should inform me so as to maintain a watchful eye over her condition!"

Creed snorted, annoyed, as the man turned to Pryde and Summers.

"It occurs when a woman with Rh-negative blood is exposed to blood from an Rh-positive fetus," McCoy explained curtly. "Her immune system reacts aggressively and starts producing antibodies that can destroy the fetus's Rh-positive red blood cells. It's this antibody response that is known as Rh-sensitization. The fetus will thus develop a mild to severe case of haemolytic disease, better known as anemia. Untreated, it can cause a severe case of hydrops fetalis and, in rare cases, lead to fetal death. Treated, the fetus may require a pre-term delivery, but otherwise should be able to develop and become a healthy baby."

Creed checked a movement of impatience that might have betrayed how anxious he was to run up to the infirmary and check on Isabel.

"Are you even aware there is a treatment for it?" The question caught him by surprise. "Are you aware that the foetus's haemolytic disease can be kept in check throughout the pregnancy?"

"She…"

"I don't know what kind of practitioner you took Isabel to, Creed, but I can assure you that Rh-sensitized women have been able to give birth to perfectly healthy babies for years. This is unbelievable!"

"She AIN'T Rhesus sensitized!" The yell actually made him feel better. "I said she's got a _rare_ blood type. Her problem ain't the Rhesus protein; it's another protein completely. It's _all_ of 'em! She's got different alelles from normal for _every_ damn red blood cell protein. It makes her blood _stupid_ _rare_. She can't even get no blood transfusions! And the baby's anemia can't be treated: it sets on too early and it's too strong."

McCoy frowned, letting the information sink in silently.

"She ain't sensitized 'gainst no Rhesus blood protein," he rubbed in. "She's sensitized 'gainst any possible pregnancy unless the kid comes out with her exact blood type!"

And then it occurred to him: heavy bleeding.

"Ya didn't give her no blood transfusion, did ya?" The question was out before he could check his anxiety.

"No," McCoy's voice had regained all its calm and composure. "She requested that no blood trasnfusion be performed."

"How many times has she miscarried?" Pryde insisted. He looked at her, but decided a truthful answer would just cause another wave of shock. He needed to check on the woman, and at this point it didn't even bother him that the others might think him worried about her.

"I'm gonna go talk t' her an' find out why she kept everyone in the dark."

"No, you are _not_ ," the command voice stopped Creed's movement. "First, of all, she's asleep right now. Secondly, she's upset and frightened, and your presence is the last thing she requires at this point."

Alarm bells again rang in his head. He had had the feeling they were blaming him for something, and it seemed they'd just returned to that line of action.

"As I've already stated, Isabel is physically and emotionally exhausted. She is not to be upset by anything."

"I ain't gona upset her, ya moron."

"As if it wasn't the only thing ya do," Logan grunted to the side and Creed turned back with a growl. The man wasn't the least worried, though. "It don't even take a heightened sense of smell t'know she's scared t'death of ya."

"What?" That was something he hadn't expected. "Ya're nuts or somethin'? Isabel ain't afraid o'me!"

"Well, then ya've forgotten how ta use yer nose."

Creed closed a fist and held his claws back. They were luring him into losing control, it occurred to him, and he just couldn't afford it.

"Is there anything else I should know concerning Isabel's medical history?"

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head.

"Are you certain?" It was the intonantion of someone who already knew there was something else and was just waiting to see if he came clean. Creed's gaze settled on Kitty Pryde.

"She's had a whole bunch of miscarriages before, but it was never no problem. If ya want more details ya should talk t'the woman." Or to her doc. Maybe he should call Angie Dalton and… But no, this was Isabel's game; the secrets and details were hers to decide.

"A whole bunch? That's it? How can you not know any details?"

He turned to the girl, a little voice shrieking at him not to lose control, and snarled. Why did they insist in blowing this all out of proportion!

"Why should I?!" It was Isabel's decision, dammit! She did not go about snitching on his things and he did not snitch on hers. Why was it so difficult for the assholes to understand that simple concept! "That's why she's got a freekin' doc, ta keep track o' the blasted details!"

He only needed to know the important things, not the stupid details. And by important he meant how many…

"Isabel could have died today," McCoy pronounced each word separately, probably trying to get a reaction from him, but Creed made sure that the sudden cold gripping his insides couldn't be noticed by anyone. "And your unborn son did die today. Doesn't it mean anything at all to you?"

It suddenly became very difficult to breathe. Son? What was he talking about? Isabel's miscarriages were always in the first trimester, long before the child could become a boy or a girl. She miscarried embryos, not foetuses. But then again... after the twelfth week they were foetuses... you could tell if it was a… Fifteen or sixteen. That's how far she'd been along. At least. Son? What had McCoy said? The miscarriage was because she was exhausted, not because of her blood type. 'No.' The thought froze his blood. 'She got herself tired nursing me.'

Creed licked his dry lips, the thoughts rubbing salt all over his raw pain. She had exhausted herself nursing him. But he had gotten hurt doing their dirty job. Saving Logan's useless sorry-ass. It had all been because of THEIR dirty job. Because of Logan. Because… it was their fault. Their fault. All THEIR fault. He took in deep breaths. This was their fault and he was going to kill them all for it. But no, no, no no no… because he'd never see Lilia again if he did. Never see Isabel again, and he still needed to go to her; he still needed…

" _When I do de ecography tomorrow, we will know dat is a boy."_ Isabel had been fifteen weeks pregnant with Lilia back then, and had done her best to convince herself it was a boy. _"I mean, if de baby is in a good position to see…"_

She had been smiling happily then. My boy, your boy, our boy. She sure could conjugate verbs, he'd tease her. Smiling so happily, dreaming of her baby boy. Their baby boy. His baby boy. Smiling happily, back at fifteen weeks.

Creed had never felt so cold in his entire life. He realized he was trembling somewhat, and turned around abruptly, trying to get a grip on himself. Control. They'd lock him up and keep Lilia away from him if he ever lost control.

With a deafening roar, he threw something on the ground. He didn't know what it was, simply that it had been standing in his way. Control. But his vision was reddening at the edges and he couldn't lose control. "Think of Lilia," a voice resounded in his head. "Think of Lilia and Isabel. You'll never see them again. Think of them."

He heard Logan's voice, though what he might be saying couldn't reach his brain, and the little voice reminded him he had killed his unborn son, too. 'But this ain't Logan's kid I'm talkin' 'bout!' he yelled the voice shut: 'It's MY kid! MY baby…' He was suddenly afraid to think it, even if McCoy had already said it. Isabel's smile popped up again: "It'll be a boy, Victor, I'm sure!" A son. "I want it to be a boy so much!" His son. And the occasional scent of fear that sometimes accompanied her wish took hold of him. Stop thinking!

"Lilia," he growled. They'd take her away from him. But not if he got to her first. "Where's Lilia?"

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	7. Mamma's a Coward

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **7\. Mamma's a Coward**

Lilia was sleeping in her bedroom, they had told Creed. Frost had given her a telepathic nudge to get her to sleep, but the suggestion should undo itself the moment an external stimulus snapped her out of it.

"It was considered the safest option," Pryde said stiffly on their way. But he could tell she wasn't fully satisfied with the option. "We were able to focus on giving Isabel the best care possible, and Lilia was able to be safely on her own, instead of suffering with anxiety over the whole event."

Sounded fine in theory, but he could smell it from the corridor: fear. It got stronger with each step and he couldn't help the growl. When Pryde opened the door, he registered neither her slightly apprehensive tone nor her words. As a matter of fact, as soon as the stench of intense fear fully assaulted him, when the door opened, Creed's already over-ridden instincts had him completely forget about the X-girl's harmless presence.

Without as much as a conscious thought, Creed closed the door behind him, glanced over the windows to ascertain they were closed and locked, and quickly used his senses to make sure no danger was lurking anywhere in the room. Next, he was stealthily crouching by the bed.

Lilia was whimpering, rolled into a ball under the bed covers; and when Creed carefully pulled the covers back, she shuddered harder. He wondered briefly how the child could have managed to snap out of the telepathic influence. Could her powers include a natural resistance to telepathy?

"Hush, Lil' Devil," Creed cooed softly, picking the girl up with the gentleness of the first time he had picked her up, a three-month-old infant. "Papa's here, now, Lil' Devil, and everythin's gonna be O.K., ya hear? Everythin's gonna be O.K.."

The girl clung to her Papa's neck as if it were the only thing keeping her alive, her little fingers boring into his skin so hard they almost drew blood.

"Hush, Lil' Devil, hush, now," Creed continued breathing softly, "Why's ya cryin' so much, Lil' Devil? Papa's here. 'S O.K.. Nuthin's gonna hurts ya, now. Everythin's fine."

The sobs started dying down eventually, and as Creed continued promising everything was OK and nobody was going to hurt her, Lilia whimpered something about her hands.

"Huh?" He forced her hands away from his neck and sat her down on the bed softly, frowning away the sobs that threatened to increase. "O.K., no more cryin' now, girl, and we'll have us a lil' talk. What's this ya talkin' 'bout, yer hands. What's the matter with 'em?"

"They… they… hu't…"

Creed swallowed down and gently took the little hands in his, looking intently at their back. They looked the same as always: beautifully perfect. He passed a thumb over the tiny knuckles and felt the girl's body stiffen and shudder. Pain had snapped her out of Frost's suggestion, he realised. Looking at her frightened brown eyes, Creed felt unsure and a cold shiver of fear ran up and down his spine. As soon as it did, though, he hardened his resolve. He took the little girl's face in his hand and gazed right into her eyes.

"Ya can't be 'fraid o' yer hands hurtin', Lil' Devil. Ya gotta be strong, ya hear? Ya just tell yer hands ta stop hurtin'. Ya tell'em ya ain't gonna let 'em hurt. That ya're stronger 'an them. Ya understand?"

Lilia didn't seem very sure, though, as she swallowed down and asked if it worked. She had good reason to be dure, though. While her body didn't relax some, the pain would not go away. But he was there and his presence would give her the opportunity and the confidence to unwind her muscles as she overcame her fear.

"It takes a lil' while. They don't stop right away. But ya can't let'em win, Lil' Devil. Ya keep sayin' ya're stronger 'an them, and they won't have no other chance but t'obey and stop hurtin'. Ya can't let'em get away with hurtin' ya. Tell'em ya're not afraid o'them; that ya ain't afraid of'em hurtin' so they might as well stop hurtin' an' behave."

Stiffling a sob, the girl bobbed her head up and down. She seemed calmer and Creed relaxed a bit. The pain would go away soon. She must have been really scared with what happened to her Mamma, what with him being away and having no one she could trust telling her everything was going to be just fine. Creed gave her a hearty smile when she told her hands to stop hurting, although her voice wavered with slight uncertainty. Looking up and seeing her Papa's smile, though, she bit her lip, took a deep breath and put on her 'bad face'.

"I to'd ya: stop hu'tin'. I'm not afwaid o'you, ya hear? I ain't no cowa'd wike Mamma."

When she looked up this time, ready to bask in Papa's approval, her big smile met a frown. She was immediately frightened and her chin started trembling.

"What did ya just say yer Mamma is?"

Seeing her chin crumble and her breast heave up and down ahead of more crying, he grabbed her arms and repeated the question; but the only answer was a set of whimpered sobs.

"Stop it! Who told ya yer Mamma's a coward, Lilia?"

By then, Lilia was fighting hard to keep fresh tears from spilling and the only thing she managed to whimper, besides strangled sobs, was that her hands were hurting. Almost immediately, he sensed the door opening. Next, he was clutching a surprised Pryde's neck against the wall, who phased away in the following second. Enraged, Creed punched the wall, and turned to face the X-girl, standing between him and his crying daughter.

"WHO WAS IT!" He hadn't even heard what Pryde was saying. The only reason he hadn't plunged into an attack, was the fact Lilia was crying behind her and he couldn't risk hurting her in a difficult fight as it would be, facing off the phasing girl. "WHO the fuck told Lilia her MAMMA's a COWARD!"

"What? Are you insane?"

Pryde was already positioned for his attack, and Creed did leap. She was ready for him and phased, expecting to partially materialise and attack him when he couldn't defend himself: before his attack was fully over. But it had been a ruse. Creed hadn't meant to attack her and simply reached for the crying girl, who promptly clutched herself to Papa's neck and shoulder.

"Think this over, Creed. You harm Lilia…"

"SHUT YER YAP!" Creed was fuming and clung to Lilia almost as hard as Lilia clung to him. "Ya told her her Mamma's a coward!"

"What? Of course not! We…"

But Creed wasn't listening anymore as he turned to Lilia and demanded she said who had told her her Mamma was a coward.

"They said…" she wailed, frightened; and as Creed continued insisting 'who', she kept crying "they… they said…"

Pryde passed a hand over her forehead, and not even the enraged Sabretooth could have denied her shock and disbelief at Lilia's words. Growling, Creed walked past her and out of the bedroom.

* * *

"This can't be happening…"

Trying to make sense of the girl's accusation, Kitty phased onto the lower floor and hurried to the meeting room, where Scott and the others were discussing the interrupted mission. Creed was acting on an instinct of protective parent, which turned him into a big threat… one that would be hard to thwart while he held Lilia. At the same time, Kitty went over the morning events: Lilia crying desperately for her father and Isabel having the spontaneous abortion. What if Isabel's abortion had been caused by the extra stress of having her daughter call her a coward? Worse, what if Creed thought that the abortion had been caused by someone convincing Lilia that her mother was a coward? And what if it actually was true?

"Scott, we have a situation."

Kitty had hardly finished these words and Logan's claws were already out.

"Did he hurt the girl?"

Scott seemed surprised at the idea even as he put it forward.

"Somebody said something that had Lilia saying we told her Isabel is a coward and…"

"… and I wanna know WHO!"

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	8. Misunderstandings

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **8\. Misunderstandings**

Scott's hand was on the command that would release a paralysing shock to Creed's nervous system. Logan, although keeping his claws in check, had his entire body tensed up and ready to leap into action. But what kept all of them from acting on their instincts and subduing Sabretooth, was simply the fact that Kitty was in their way, and that the killer seemed to be listening to her reasoning.

"Or can you think of anyone here who would really say something bad about Isabel?"

Truth be said, the fact that Lilia was calm, despite some occasional heaving and the tear streaked cheeks, had some influence, too.

"Ya mean, 'sides Frost? LeBeau? Dra…"

"Give me a break, Creed! Just because we all think she's crazy for being with you, it doesn't mean we'll call her coward. There's a big difference."

Creed himself wasn't sporting a truly threatening stance, at least not the way he was holding Lilia – one arm supporting her, the other free and ready to either comfort or defend.

"Can't you see this is just a misunderstanding?!"

And yet his reddened eyes told a different story.

"Misunderstanding? Ya mean Lilia just made it all up, 's that it? She's lyin', is that what ya're sayin'?"

"But is t'ue, Pappa!" The girl said urgently. "She said too! She said, she said Mamma's afwaid o' you. They aw said. I'm not lying, is t'ue!"

Creed bared his teeth at Kitty and, as Logan's claws unsheathed, he took a better hold of the girl with a hand supporting her back. Scott bit down a curse.

They had all discussed that messed up connection between Creed and Isabel, especially when he'd been injured and Isabel, despite previously being afraid of him, standing by his side day and night. But they all realised the child lived happily within that messed up relationship, adoring her pappa and not the slightest aware how scared her mother was of him. Scott had talked about it with Emma and she'd just shrugged it off. First of all, she didn't think Creed would be that abusive towards the mother and still garner so much love from the girl. Not to mention, she didn't think he was smart enough to be able to brainwash the woman into that level of devotion and, besides that, Isabel was not as innocent as she appeared to be, either. There was something else in the picture they weren't seeing, she believed. And, anyway, the guy was stuck with them for good. If their relationship really was that abusive, Isabel would eventually realise she could walk out on the man safely while he was in the hands of the X-Men and the problem would solve itself.

The point was that, no matter how much the topic was mentioned and discussed, they had all been very careful not to say anything anywhere near the ch... No, that was not right. There had been at least one occasion he'd witnessed when the topic had come up near the child. But she'd been playing with her puppy and hadn't been exactly within earshot. Perhaps someone had been less careful, though.

Still, right now, it was best to be diplomatic and defuse the situation. He couldn't allow this to escalate into a fight, not with the child there.

"Ok, Creed, you've got a point, I'll give you that. No one should have told Lilia her mother was afraid of you. But _no one_ ever intended for that to happen, either. You know that." He snarled but didn't dispute it. "It was an accident. First of all, no one sees Isabel as a coward. Being afraid of someone that can kill you does not make anyone a coward, but Lilia must have overheard a conversation and she didn't make the distinction between being afraid and being a coward. So it is like Kitty said: a misunderstanding."

"Ya told Lilia her Mamma's afraid o' me and ya think it's no big deal?!"

"We didn't tell Lilia anything of the sort, Creed!" Even Kitty was getting frustrated. "She must have overheard someone talking, that's all!"

"And it ain't like nobody lied."

When Creed's glare focused on Logan, Scott signalled to Kitty so that she'd be ready to take Lilia to safety.

"What're ya sayin', boy, that Isabel's 'fraid o' me? Ha! That'll be the day. She ain't ever been 'fraid o' me, and she sure as hell ain't gonna start now."

Logan neither sheathed his claws nor eased his stance. If anything, he was even readier to strike.

"Like I said before, ya must've fergotten how ta use yer nose, Creed. Or ain't ya noticed how the woman gets scared everytime she sets her eyes on ya?"

Kitty signalled back at Scott that she was ready.

" _She ain't scared_! You're the one who's fergotten how t'use yer nose. She's apprehensive. It's a completely different scent, you asshole. And even if she was scared, so what? It still wouldn't be me she'd be scared of."

And he stepped back. It was unexpected and almost had Scott push the button. Creed took in their positions, changed Lilia to his other arm – his eyes trailing from Logan to Scott and Kitty – and slowly moved to the left.

"That woman ain't fuckin' scared o' nuthin'," he grumbled.

He positioned himself behind an armchair that was near Scott's desk. The child was now fully facing the X-Men, but before Kitty could reach her, if she phased, she'd have to go through both the armchair and Creed's body, not to mention they were both much further away from her grasp now.

"Creed…" Kitty tried to cut in, hoping to get closer to them while talking, but the mutant wasn't about to listen to anything.

"YOU don't know NUTHIN' 'bout the woman, ya morons! She LIKES worryin'! It's like some blasted hobby o' hers, just worryin' 'bout everythin' an' nuthin' and bein' 'fraid that somethin' bad's gonna happen. I ain't gonna go 'bout wastin' my time guessin' what she's worried 'bout. I wanna know, I ASKS her. And I suggest next time ya just plain ASK her 'stead o' tellin' the kid LIES that YOU made up."

There was a moment of silence, adversaries measuring each other and calculating chances.

"She ain't ever been 'fraid o' me."

If Scott hadn't known better, he might have thought he heard a hurt undertone; as it was, he simply noted Creed was calmer – having yelled away at least some of the built up tension – and that now was the time to finish defusing the situation without fighting.

"Lilia was too upset with Isabel's situation and has eaten nothing all morning. Why don't you fix her a late brunch? Kitty will help you."

Creed hesitated and measured the man up and down, studying his proposal.

"I don't need no help from none o' you."

* * *

Creed didn't wait for a plainer invitation and promptly left, not letting anyone out of his sight until he was out of the room. He heard Kitty's steps – she'd be following him to the kitchen. Only he wasn't headed for the kitchen and he didn't want a shadow either. He turned a corner before Kitty set eyes on him and swiftly jogged to the stairs.

It didn't take long to reach the infirmary.

There was no one around, so he locked the door behind him and softly sat Lilia on her sleeping Mamma's bed. Creed held his breath for a moment as he took in Isabel's pale face. He touched her forehead and found it cold.

"Nesi," he called softly, as if someone other than Lilia might risk hearing him. "Can ya hear me, my sweet Nesi?"

She didn't respond, obviously; and the blond almost punched the bed in frustration. Instead, he caressed her face gently.

"Why did ya keep mum 'bout this, Nesi? Damn ya and yer stubborness! Ya trust Angie; why didn't ya trust McCoy? He's way more qualified than anyone t'deal with yer rare blood, woman."

He growled out his frustration. What the hell could he do for her? Nothing! And he didn't have much time, either. The others would be on his trail in a few moments, if they weren't already.

"Lilia, ya listen ta Pappa, now." The girl's wide brown eyes reminded him of Isabel's, only these were filled with innocence and awe at him. "Yer Mamma ain't no coward, ya hear? And she ain't 'fraid o' no one."

She just kept gazing at him. Unconvinced, he figured.

"Yer Mamma is one o' the strongest, bravest women I've ever met."

Not to mention stubborn and unmanageable. Lilia glanced briefly at her Mamma.

"But... Mamma's _aw'ays_ sca'ed, Pappa."

He growled. He could understand his baby girl's confusion: fear and apprehension are very close together. One could almost claim that apprehension smells a lot like a low level of fear, but it was still different. Someone with senses as heightened as Logan, and with as much experience as he had, really should know better than to mix the two. Creed, for example, could distinguish it from afar, on his woman. He could distinguish the most minute changes in her scent from afar. But Lilia wasn't aware her senses were above everyone else because he didn't want her to know about it and accidentaly out herself as a mutant while playing with the other kids in Creston.

There were steps approaching, outside. Logan, Pryde, Summers. McCoy, too.

"Listen, my Lil' Devil, it's easy t'confuse worry an' fear. Yer Mamma worries 'bout you an' me... an' they've gone an' confused worry with fear, that's all. D'ya understand what I'm sayin'?"

Lilia bobbed her head up and down uncertainly, biting down her lip, as the door opened, Logan bursting in with a growl and a single claw extended, McCoy fast on his heels. Creed groaned, knowing he wouldn't be able to talk to Isabel, and glanced at his woman, fighting the urge to send them all to hell and just holding her tight and safe in his arms till she woke up.

"It's all 'bout worryin'," he insisted under his breath.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	9. Business Dinner

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **9\. Business Dinner**

"Mademoiselle Chantal Moreau," the waiter announced as Mystique entered the restaurant's private room.

The four men in the room were standing by the window, sipping their appetisers. Vincent Gautier motioned towards a small table and offered her a drink.

"I do not drink before business," Chantal said softly, even if Mystique would have welcomed a drink. Nevertheless, her alias was a beautiful young woman who dressed conservatively and spoke in a low determined voice, eyes usually downcast, and Mystique knew how to remain in character despite any personal desires of the moment.

The men must have been talking about the missing operative, the one Hyde and _his team_ had spirited away, but naturally they wandered towards the table. Owen Nills was so anxious he had developed a new nervous tick, his right hand fingers drumming against the table. Mystique could have laughed at the runt. Instead, she let Chantal's blue eyes go through every man: Vincent on her right, face tense but composed; the sweating Owen sitting next to a muscular soldier who barely fit in the suit he was wearing and was obviously Owen's new bodyguard; Roland Moulin, a grim slim blonde in his late fifties; and a tall mousy haired man she hadn't met before.

"What happened to Monsieur Picard," she frowned lightly at the glass as one of Roland's men filled it water.

Her periphereal vision could clearly take in the way the men glanced at eachother.

"He was required elsewhere," Moulin smiled tersely and picked his own glass of wine.

Chantal Moreau lifted her head slowly and looked intensely into the Frenchman's blue eyes.

"If you ask Monsieur Gautier," she gestured towards Vincent, on her right, "he will tell you that I am resourceful and that I maintain myself well informed."

There, she had made her stand. Now she once more downcast her eyes and picked her glass of water, sipping softly. No one corrected the previous statement, though. It always annoyed her, how paternalistic businessmen were when she presented herself in the guise of women.

"I know Monsieur Picard is missing," she returned the glass to the table without looking at anyone. "I wish to know if that disappearance will affect our business in any way."

She glanced up at the man for a moment, to make sure he understood she was not to be rebuffed.

"It won't."

"Who has taken him?"

Roland's men, fulfilling their roles as the waiters for the evening, were now serving the starters. She could feel the delicate aroma of balsamic vinegar over the artistic crab salad.

"We are still investigating."

Liar. Mystique was well aware that all the operatives had a chip inserted that allowed their movements to be monitored. There were a lot of places that were rigged so as to interrupt devices from giving away their location, but unless Hyde knew about the chip, Roland would have been able to follow the missing operative all the way until the signal disappeared. Then again, if Hyde (and his supposed team) knew about it, he would have neutralised it. Or, if that team was who she suspected they could be, maybe they had the means to block the signal from the get go. Still... She had been furious when the man, Picard, had disappeared. She had expected a body to show up the following morning but, obviously, she had confused Creed's habits with Hyde's. It was extremely rare for Sabretooth to take a job that didn't include as quick a kill as possible.

"Someone has dropped me a word," she almost whispered, looking at the starter. "Picard may have been compromised."

There was a moment of silence as everyone picked their forks to taste the delicacy. Assuming the man had not yet been killed, he would be shortly; and if Hyde was after intel, she'd know about it soon enough. Mystique had spent the entire day going over the possibilities. She'd been such a damn fool! As exciting as the man might be, she was old enough, and had been through enough, to know better. But she liked the thrill of playing with fire, didn't she? And dear old Vic' had always been a very alluring type of fire. Hyde didn't seem as explosive, which was definitely an improvement, and then he had the added pleasure of a mystery to unravel. Oh well, she was old enough, and had been through enough, to know how to turn silly mistakes to her advantage.

"Will it be inconvenient if I ask about the situation of my order?"

The tall man cleared his throat. "Not in the least, mademoiselle."

His French seemed fluent but he had a clear American accent. She allowed herself to look him straight in the eye.

"Monsieur..."

"Samuel Greer," she nodded and returned her attention to the plate. "We have already positioned our assets and the merchandise you require has been assessed and evaluated."

That was what she had paid for so far. They wouldn't take another action until she paid the fees for it.

"And what value have you come to?"

She finished her starter and interlaced her fingers.

"Two hundred thousand."

Well, having in mind the difficulty of the target, it was definitely not unreasonable. She nodded as the men started collecting the now empty starter plates.

"Monsieur Gautier has already created an account for you to bid on some token items," Owen Nills explained. "You will pay the whole amount over a period of three weeks. The instalments will vary between a few hundreds and a few thousands."

That was a new system. Picard's disappearance must have gotten them nervous enough if they were tightening their security measures. Chantal waited for the main course to be brought to the table before awarding Owen Nills and Samuel Greer a small smile of acquiescense.

"And where are we on the Gulo Operation?" Going nowhere, as she well knew.

"We will probably resume our attempts in a month," Roland offered.

That would simply not do. Mystique looked up to meet Roland's blue eyes.

"What if I tell you I may have a way to lure him here, to Paris?"

Owen Nills fidgeted nervously.

"When?"

"It could be next week, it could be next month." Or it could be tomorrow, if Mystique's suspicions were right and Roland didn't wait any longer to sever any ties to the missing operative. "But the excuse to get him here will have nothing to do with hate crimes or the like. I expect he may even be in an unsuspecting frame of mind." All the men exchanged glances. "I will need the appropriate weaponry, though."

"Obviously," Roland muttered.

Perfect. Since it was time to change the topic again, Chantal got up and reached for her handbag.

"Monsieur Greer, I have brought something with me that will help you bring my merchandise safely to my side."

The man pushed the chair back, in order to see her actions. She took two small wrist watches from the bag under his intent gaze and held them out to him.

"Image inducers. They have already been programmed and I suggest that you, very literally, use a couple of black couriers."

She said it with a straight face and, once he picked the two devices, she returned to her seat.

"We haven't yet discussed the delivery address."

No, they hadn't. She considered several possibilities thoughtfully. A sudden memory had Mystique laughing inwardly while Chantal maintained her contemplative expression.

"Spain sounds like an agreeable place."

* * *

Logan walked down to the detention area. Now that the little girl had calmed down and Scott had managed to lock Creed in a much needed Danger Room session in order to kick off some steam, Logan was feeling edgy. He had joined Scott, watching over Creed's session, but it had only made him itch harder. He might be just reacting to the tension in the place, but Logan figured that interviewing their guest might help him blow some steam himself.

Emma hadn't managed to get much intel from the man because he hadn't known much in the first place. He had not known anything about kidnapping former mutants and he didn't know any details about the fidgety American, Owen Nils, he had been ordered to keep safe. Creed could have picked a better target. Owen Nils, for example.

Just as he was getting to the detention area, his cell phone started ringing. Bishop.

"Hey, Logan. Is something going on? Neither Cyclops nor Frost answered my calls."

Logan smirked. "Emma spent the whole day goin' over Picard's mind. He had a lot o' trainin' 'gainst telepaths an' she's gone down with a hell of a headache. She won't be alive fer the world 'fore tomorrow. As fer Scotty, he's got his hands full with Creed."

"Oh?"

Hesitating slightly, he ended up admitting that the guy had reacted badly to the news.

"He sure didn't seem bothered on the jet."

"Yeah, well, it turned out the woman has a history o' miscarriages 'cause of a blood condition, so he just figured it was more o' the same. When he realised her blood condition had had nuthin' t'do with it this time, and that she had lost his would-be son 'cause o' physical and emotional stress, Blue's words, he almost flipped. Then the kid started sayin' we had said her Mamma was a coward and he really did flip."

"That's starting to sound like a soap."

Starting? It felt like being knee deep in one. Logan looked at the screen next to the detention room door. Picard was lying on the cot, eyes open.

"Ya want me ta tell Scott somethin'?"

"Yes. Mystique has just come out from some sort of dinner meeting. Owen Nils and Vincent Gautier were part of it, as well as some other men we haven't yet been able to identify."

Right. Logan growled lightly under his breath. This whole soap opera, as Bishop had put it, had come at the worst time.

"Look, I don't think Creed'll be in the right frame o' mind t'go back t'Paris any time soon. The girl's a bit messed up and Isabel hasn't come to yet. Just try t' identify everyone connected t'Gautier an' then send us files on 'em."

"Will do," Bishop grunted. "What about..."

What the f... Logan stopped listening to Bishop the moment he saw Picard's face distort in pain. He darted into the room but there was nothing he could do: it looked as if a telepath was frying the guy's brains, with blood oozing from the man's nose and ears.

Logan pushed an intercom and shouted for Hank to come down, now! Nevertheless, he knew there was nothing to be done. Picard was dead. But how?

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	10. Breakfast

**!Warning!**

I'm afraid I'll be undergoing a period that will make going online a bit tricky. I may have to spend a couple, if not actually a few, days in a row offline, and these offline periods may come and go without warning. This means I won't be able to maintain my update schedule. As such, I will go on a one month hiatus.

I'm sorry for kicking off 2018 with a hiatus, especially with stories running, but it can't be helped.

I wish you all a great 2018 and... see you all in a month.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **10\. Breakfast**

Lying in Isabel's bed, Creed stared at the ceiling above him. He hadn't slept a thing the whole night, going over the last weeks; trying to understand how everything had gone so wrong. And the weirdest thing was that Isabel's bed did have the lingering scent of fear. Not apprehension, but actual fear. It might not be very strong, but it was still unmistakenable. He couldn't understand what could have made her fearful but, whatever it had been, it was probably the reason why she hadn't confided in McCoy. Perhaps she'd overheard something or… he didn't know.

Lilia moaned and turned over in her sleep, elbowing his chest and kneeing his stomach, the foot nearly hitting him in the groin. Gently, Creed brought a hand to the child's head and played with her hair, whispering soothing words. He could feel her body relaxing again with an audible sigh, her skin warm and soft against his.

He wished he could do the same – relax and sleep as peacefully as his little devil. But how could he in that bed, surrounded with Isabel's scent? He breathed out a low growl, going over how pale she had been, drugged in the infirmary. He wondered if she was still sleeping, drugged out of her mind, or awake and aware of what had happened. Maybe in the throws of a nightmare without anyone to comfort her. His blood boiled in his veins, and yet there was nothing he could do but lie there, playing with his girl's hair and wishing he could be doing the same to his woman. He could almost imagine her waking up with a relieved smile at him, her eyes gazing lovingly into his, and then he'd ask her what was wrong and he'd fix it and everything would be fine again.

Outside, dawn was breaking. He'd have to get up soon and meet Summers. The mighty leader had been seriously annoyed over the ruckus the day before, had even threatened to lock him down in the cell if he didn't accept no one was to blame for the girl's misconceptions. Instead, though, he'd locked him (so to speak) in the Danger Room and set up a slasher routine for him to indulge his so-called aggressive impulses.

Creed groaned at the memory.

"Ya can't keep me away from her," he had growled.

"Don't be a moron, Creed! We're not keeping you from seeing Lilia; we're just making sure you kick off some of that edge before getting back to her. You almost went berserk back there in the office!"

And whose fault had that been?

"I'm talkin' 'bout _Nesi_ ," he had stupidly snapped. "Ya can't keep me from talkin' to _her_! She's _mine_!"

He had been so very careful not to let out the slightest hint of his feelings for the woman for so long, and then out everything came at the first opportunity.

"What?" Creed had just glared at the man and kept on gushing everything out.

"She's my woman, ya asshole. She _belongs_ to me! And if ya think ya can stop me from talkin' t' her an' findin' out what the stupid dimwit was thinkin' ta keep her blasted pregnancy hidden from freekin' McCoy, ya better think again!"

"Nesi? That's Isabel's real name?"

That alone had sobered him away from any berserker rage. To think he'd slipped and mentioned the woman by her blasted _nickname_.

"Isabel," he'd corrected, ice running in his veins at the prospect of them figuring out that Nesi was short for Nesita which was short for Inês. They all spoke Spanish, to some degree, and would quickly connect Nesita and Inês. If that happened, he really would have hell in his hands. "Spanish nickname. José turns to Pepe, Francisco turns to Paco and Isabel goes something like Isabel, Isa, Isita, Nisita, Nesita."

He could still see Summers face, frowning, as if he wasn't following the freaking explanation.

"It's short fer Isabel in Spanish, asshole! It don't mean nuthin'!"

Next time, he would go through the one hour slashing routine to clear his head before opening his mouth. He sighed. Why did he have to be such a big mouthed dumbass when he was itching to rip heads?

On top of him, Lilia grumbled and once more showered Creed's torso with random punches, elbows and knees, reserving the kicking to his thighs. He sighed, while she rubbed her face against his chest and grumbled louder just before lifting her head.

"Mornin', Lil' Devil."

Mildly confused, she rubbed her eyes, resting her elbows hard on Creed's chest, and the man decided he'd had enough. He grabbed the girl under her arms and lifted her high up as he sat up. The morning light was strong on the other side of the curtains. When he sat her on his knees, Lilia was giggling and looking up at him with a blissful smile, asking for more. He lifted her up, actually tossing her high in the air, getting up before catching her in his arms, the bubbly laughter comforting him only slightly.

"OK, Lil' Devil, let's get ya dressed up. Go t'the toilet then wash up."

Creed looked around him, thinking of which clothes to put on the child that day, but his eyes ended up resting on Isabel's bed. A sudden pain wrenched through his insides and he wanted nothing but to go berserk and tear the whole place to pieces; instead, he punched the bed and buried his face on the pillow, drinking the woman's delicious scent. Damn, he'd missed it! Eyes closed, he fought the urge to go to the infirmary, killing everyone that got in his way. His claws unsheathed and ripped through the pillow but he held on tight to it.

"Pappa?" Creed held his breath and stood perfectly still as he willed the claws away. "You sti' sweepy?"

"Pappa!" She was giggling as she poked him, hoping for a game. Creed turned around with a roar and grabbed the child, who yelled, delighted, when she was thrown up so high she touched the ceiling. "Maish! Maish!"

Creed threw the girl a couple more times, more careful now, so she wouldn't hit the ceiling again. Then he held her tight and gave her two strong slaps on her behind. Maybe a bit too strong, he wondered, but Lilia was laughing and still asking for more in Portuguese. It was all part of the game anyway.

"Enough!" He placed her on the bed. "We gotta get ya down fer a proper breakfast. Ya washed up properly?"

Not that he needed asking; she might have cleaned her face and hands, but her neck was still wet, as well as the arms and most of the torso, and there was still some soap here and there. So he fetched a towel from the bathroom, noticing the stool in front of the basin and the wet floor. With a resigned sigh, he wiped the stool clean, pulled it to the side and dried the floor. Then he fetched a new towel for Lilia.

* * *

Scott Summers and Emma Frost were already in the kitchen when Lilia and Creed came in, the child holding her Pappa's hand as she hopped all the way to the table.

"Emma'll give Lilia her breakfast, Creed."

Lilia didn't seem to have noticed the couple as she jumped to a chair and stood up brightly until Creed told her to sit and she crouched obediently. Despite ignoring Summers's remark, he noticed the two recently washed up mugs on the sink and the fading aroma of fresh coffee, as he made sure Lilia was properly sat.

"Come on, Creed," Summers insisted, taking a few steps to the door and then stopping to glance at the blond. "Now."

Growling lightly, Creed glared at Emma and warned her to make sure Lilia had a glass full of milk and at least a couple of bread slices with jam, as well as an apple. Peeled. Twisting on the chair to watch her Pappa talk to the woman, Lilia's gaze sulkingly followed him until he disappeared into the corridor. Still sulking, she sat up and frowned attentively at the table, listening to both men's steps fading away; Summers' steps sounded annoyed, she could tell that much, but her father's sounded angry, and not the same way as when she did something bad. It was a different kind of anger. Emma put the glass of milk in front of her, startling her out of her reasoning. She pouted harder, but Emma didn't notice it as she had gone back to the counter and was preparing her bread. She followed the woman's movements. She didn't want a nanny; she wanted Pappa. If Pappa was with her, then he couldn't go away.

"Stop staring at me and start drinking, kid." Aggravated, Lilia turned to the table, searching for... something. Then, lightning struck. Thoughtfully, the girl put her hands around the lukewarm glass then fell back on the chair.

"The miwk's cowd."

"No, it isn't. Just drink it."

"It's cowd! You don't know hot to make my b'eakfast, on'y Pappa knows."

Mumbling a curse that didn't escape Lilia's ears, Emma dropped the bread on the table and put the glass in the microwave for a couple of seconds. Failing to hide a lopsided grin of half victory, the girl studied the bread. Once the glass of milk was again on the table, she claimed the slices were too thick and that only Pappa knew how to cut them just right.

"Just eat. Or your _Pappa_ will be mad when he gets back."

Lilia glared openly at Emma, aggravated by the woman's threat.

"The bwead is too thick and the miwk is too hot. It has to be Pappa make my b'eakfast; _he_ knows."

"Really? And how do you know the milk's too hot if you haven't even touched it yet?" Lilia's eyes darted at the woman, but she didn't seem the least worried. Instead, Emma stooped slightly and lowered her voice to a deadly serious command. "I know what kind of game you're playing, you little brat, and let me tell you it isn't going to work. Now eat."

Lilia glared at the glass, tears of frustration burning her eyes, and Emma straightened up. The woman's tone had reminded her of the same no-way-out tone Pappa sometimes used, but there was a big difference. Pappa was Pappa; the woman was just a "witch with a capital B", like Matt used to say. Anger boiling her into action, Lilia got a hold of the glass and threw the contents at Emma. Now she'd have to get Pappa!

The woman yelped in surprise when the milk hit her back and legs, and Lilia was already standing on the chair and yelling.

"The miwk's too hot! See? Too hot, too hot, too hot!"

"You..."

Lilia gloated that there was murder in the witch's eyes and that she wasn't the least afraid. She'd have to get Pappa. And if she didn't, then Lilia would get him to come herself.

Emma reached for her arm and she screeched at the top of her voice for Pappa. The woman hesitated, face still contorted in fury, and Lilia quickly threw a slice of bread at her – jam first. Take that! Unexpectedly, the witch grabbed her arm, strongly, threatening with an exemplary punishment, and Lilia got scared.

"PAPPAAA!" Unable to escape the iron grip, the girl dropped her weight, sitting on the table top and getting a hold of the second slice of bread which promptly found its way to the woman's chest. "PAPPAAAAAA!"

The woman had just got a hold of her other arm, although keeping away from Lilia's kicking feet, when Kitty came in. Too involved in the fight, the child only noticed the arrival when the witch let go of her arms and she found herself being held in a protective embrace before being returned to the chair.

"What the hell do you think you were doing, Frost? Have you completely lost your mind! It's OK, honey, calm down."

Lilia looked at the door, hoping to see Pappa come in, but he wasn't anywhere. She let Kitty embrace her again as she felt tears welling up. Behind her, Emma was cursing her and her father before walking out in a fury, but the victory of getting rid of the witch didn't earn her a single grin of satisfaction. The oly real victory would be for Pappa to come back to her.

"You're OK?" Kitty smiled gently and kissed her forehead, making the tears burn her eyes harder. "Don't worry; I'll take care of your breakfast for you."

Lilia didn't feel hungry anymore. Had Pappa gone away? Was that why he hadn't come? When Kitty placed a new glass of milk and two new slices of bread on the table and then crouched by her side, whispering that she knew Lilia wasn't hungry, but that she had to eat something so she could grow big and strong, the girl nodded. Mamma and Pappa always said the same thing, too.

"Pappa," she asked in a whisper.

"Pappa is talking to Scott, honey. He'll be back soon. But you have to eat first, ok?"

Did that mean he'd be back once she finished breakfast? She straightened up and took the glass in both hands to start drinking, but the smell stopped her. Still crouching by her side, Kitty rubbed her back gently and smiled an encouragement. Lilia took a shy sip and grimaced.

"It's bad."

Kitty frowned, still smiling.

"The milk's bad?"

She took the glass, smelt the milk thoughtfully and then tasted it.

"No, it isn't. It's perfectly alright."

Lilia shook her head.

"It tastes bad. Mamma's miwk doesn't taste bad."

"Ah!" Lilia watched Kitty go back to the fridge and scratch her head. "I'm sorry, but we've run out of the organic milk your Mamma buys... But this milk is good, too, Lilia. It just has a slightly different taste. Try to drink at least a little, OK?"

But Lilia didn't want to. It didn't smell right, it didn't taste right, and she wanted Pappa. She stuck her tongue out in a grimace and shook her head.

"It tastes bad. I can't dwink it."

Kitty sighed and sat next to the girl.

"Lilia, the milk does not taste bad, OK? It has a different taste, that's all. Now, what if I put a bit of chocolate in the milk, so it hides the taste, huh?"

Lilia shrugged. She just wanted Pappa. While Kitty fetched the chocolate milk powder, she grabbed a slice of bread and started eating it. Slowly. Kitty was still smiling as she poured the brown mix in the milk, a cloud of unbreathable brown dust hovering above the glass for a moment, and Lilia couldn't help shivering. She started chewing the bread even more slowly.

"There you go: you won't feel a trace of the taste of the milk now." Kitty sighed when Lilia avoided looking up either at her or the milk. "Honey, trust Kitty, OK? Take a sip and see if you can taste the milk."

Lilia held back a whimper. It still didn't smell right, for a whole different reason now, but it still didn't smell right. In fact, it smelled much worse than before. But she also didn't want Kitty to get mad at her. Everyone in the house was always mad. Even Mamma and Pappa. And now Kitty was going to get mad at her, specifically, and then Pappa too.

"Lilia." Kitty's voice was definitely not happy. At the moment, it was without patience, next it would be annoyed, and then angry. "Just take a sip and see if it doesn't taste like chocolate."

Feeling the tears well up again, Lilia looked up.

"Pwease don't be mad."

"Honey, Kitty's not mad. But you have to drink your milk. Just a little bit, come on."

With a resigned sigh, Lilia put her hands around the glass and pulled it closer. She couldn't smell the milk, Kitty was right about that. But it didn't smell of chocolate either. It smelled weird. She rubbed her nose energetically and stole a glance at Kitty. Then she took a deep breath. And let the air out. Slowly she took the glass to her mouth and sheepishly bit the edge, the smell making her nose twitch when the liquid touched her lip.

"Come on..." Kitty encouraged, impatient. Maybe almost annoyed.

Summoning all her courage, Lilia took a small sip and grimaced, thoroughly disgusted, backing away from the table and the glass.

"It tastes bad."

"Lilia, you are not going to skip breakfast again. You have to eat, honey!"

"But it tastes bad!"

"What tastes bad?" Lilia gazed at Pappa, relieved and joyful, until she noticed the anger shining in his eyes. Was it because of her? "Why ain't ya eaten nuthin' yet, Lilia?"

Chin trembling, she whined it tasted bad. Creed's eyes were practically darting daggers when he picked up the glass and took a sip. Almost immediately, he grimaced and spit what he had drunk into the sink, emptying the glass afterwards as Kitty looked at the man wide eyed, not understanding. Lilia smiled happily though. Pappa had come to her rescue, after all.

"This crap tastes like shi..." he stopped himself when his eyes found Lilia's and took a deep breath. "It don't taste right. She only has organic milk and what the hell made ya think addin' crappy would-be chocolate powder was a good idea?"

"Creed," when Hank talked, Lilia noticed that more people had come into the kitchen besides her father, including Summers and the witch. "It's important you keep in mind that Lilia's gustatory cells aren't nearly as refined as yours, and every child ought to be exposed to as many different foods as healthily possibly. You should..."

"Shut yer yap, McCoy! Isabel ain't got no heightened senses and she can different brands o' milk got different tastes. Just like she can smell if a food is salty or not, or if it got the right herbs or not. You think I should force the girl ta drink somethin' her own Mamma wouldn't? Quit bein' the self-righteous moron."

Kitty didn't look happy at the rebuke, and Lilia thought it should be the witch listening to it.

"Emma's bad, Pappa!" His eyes snapped at her angrily, and she added very quickly: "She twied to hu't me!"

Creed frowned, and Lilia bit her lower lip trying not to grin victoriously. Now the witch would get it! When he glanced over at the witch, she put her head down so the grin she couldn't stop wouldn't be seen.

"Is there a problem with the bread, Lilia?" The grin disappeared immediately and she looked up, shaking her head. "Then why ain't ya eaten it yet?"

She didn't need more prompts: twisting her body around, the girl picked up the nibbled slice and took a big bite out of it, before turning back to her Pappa, who was warning Summers he wanted to have a word with him and the witch. She grinned, happily. Pappa might be going away to chew the witch's head, but then he'd be back, and her breakfast would be over, and he wouldn't leave again.

* * *

I had great fun writing some of these scenes and I hope you enjoy it. I was a picky eater as a child and thought milk tasted and smelled bad, no matter the brand (though some were way worse than others) or what you added to it. The cloud of unbreathable chocolate powder… that was a particularly nightmarish sign back then. I still remember some of my strategies and ruses to escape having to drink all my milk, and how smart I thought myself for both thinking them up and going through with them. They didn't usually have the best outcomes, though.

And that's it for 2017. See you in February!

(At least I didn't leave you in a cliffhanger.)

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	11. Misadventures

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **11\. Misadventures**

Creed crouched and gazed at the robots he had just finished off. He had been in the Danger Room since morning, but he hadn't been able to get away from the edge of a berserker rage. He was calmer, no doubt, and could even pull a decent conversation, but once he needed to fall back on his instincts for quick reactions, everything just raved out of control. Cracking his fingers, he looked up at the control room.

"Ready for a team work out now?"

Another one. The first one, right after breakfast, had been a complete waste of time because he had snapped. He had been so cool! Then Summers had informed him that Picard had been killed remotely thanks to some chip he had implanted in his brain and that he would need to go back to Paris as soon as possible, and everything had started going down the drain. Creed had ended up ignoring the X-morons (not purposefully, though; his brain had simply stopped acknowledging them) and lunged at anything that moved. They had fixed him a rip-'em-up routine, afterwards. And as much as he hated admitting it, Summers hadn't given him any grief over that, as he usual did when he didn't do exactly what the 'fearless leader' wanted him to do. On top of it all, Summers had swallowed down the pill pretty well, after breakfast, and guaranteed that Emma wouldn't be left in charge of Lilia ever again. Anyother day and he'd have been a happy camper.

The Danger Room prepared the original routine for the day while Logan, Rasputin and Summers came down to the room. He was still not ready for this. He was calmer, no question about it; but he still wanted nothing but to go berserk. Let lose. And he couldn't. There was no telling what the X-Men would do if he kept on slippig into berserker rages. He had always known that, he just hadn't thought he'd be given so many reasons to go berserk. And Summers had been very clear that going berserk meant being locked away from his woman and kid. He took a deep breath as Summers set out the rules and forced himself to think of Isabel and Lilia. But the thought, which usually helped him keep his urges in check, only pushed him closer to the edge.

When the simulation started, he tried to focus on the job at hand, but he had missed out on what he was supposed to do. An explosion went off to his right, shaking him off balance and he lept, without thinking, after the shadow of a human form. It was a simulation, and he buried his claws in the make-believe chest while his right hand clamped around the neck and broke it off.

"Watch before you attack, Creed! That's a civilian you've just killed!"

Right. A don't hit the innocent-by-stander routine. The growl erupted of its own accord and Creed was all too aware that his control was going to slip away. Damn! He just wanted to check on his woman; why didn't they let him? Because she was still asleep? Well, with all the tranquilizers they were pumping her up with, she wouldn't wake up in a zillion years, would she?

Logan's command rang in his ears and he obeyed, ripping through the mob until he reached the building where another simulation was shooting from. He heard the angry complaints – don't harm the civilians, dammit! – and it drove him harder through the crowd. He roared as he lept to the building and literally ripped the scentless man apart, the image of Isabel's pale, tired face before his eyes, lying in the infirmary bed. The image of his little girl hiding under the bedcovers, frightened out of her mind. And the thought of his son. His would-be son.

He snarled. Scentless people were crying and whimpering in front of him. Like his daughter had been, in his arms. Like his woman must have been, when she had started miscarrying. His mind shut down the moment his vision went red, and Creed roared with all his might as he started ripping away.

When he finally calmed down, the Danger Room had finished the simulation and the other men were looking at him suspiciously.

"It's nearly lunch time," Summers stated curtly. "We'll continue in the afternoon."

One by one, the X-Men emptied the room, glancing at him side ways. Summers lagged behind and, once the others were gone, called out to him.

"Think what you will, but you're walking on the edge, Creed. You're going berserk at the drop of a hat and you know you can't let that happen around Lilia. If this is still because of yesterday's situation with the child, you really need to get over it."

Creed growled and headed for the door; unfortunately, Summers hadn't finished.

"But if what's driving you over the edge is Hank not letting you near Isabel until she's awake and stable, then you really need to stop and think rationally. Understand that she's just gone through hell and needs time to recover without anyone lashing out at her."

Yes, because, obviously, that was exactly what he was going to do the moment he got face to face with the woman. Obviously! Closing his fists hard, he carried on towards the locker room, Summers trailing behind him.

"You're edgy, lashing out at everyone. Is it such a wonder Hank is shutting you out? You even snapped at Lilia..."

Creed turned on him, snarling.

"Snap?! All I did was ground her! Or what the hell did ya expect me ta do? Pat her in the back an' congratulate her fer throwin' her milk at Frost? Encourage her tantrums? She's five! When she messes up, she gets grounded; if she talks back, she gets told off. Was I snappish? Yeah. Is she gonna be traumatised? No. It happened before and it's gonna happen a lot more times. End o' story."

The man crossed his arms.

"I'm just saying she's acted up before and you were nothing if not the epitome of patience and leniency. Unlike today. You were almost growling!"

Oh, he meant all the other times when he'd been melted over by her tears and puppy dog eyes or when he'd watered down punishments because he'd been amused by her cheekiness? No, he was not going to waste his time explaining she'd gone over a limit. Harmless cheekiness promptly followed by apologetical puppy eyes was one thing, another completely different was pestering would-be baby-sitters followed by unapologetical talking back.

"Ya know what? This is probably your fault, too." And thinking about it, yes, it probably really was. They were all spoiling his girl behind Isabel's back. "If I left the kid in yer hands, ya'd let her get away with murder!"

Creed didn't wait to hear the man's answer. He just turned his back on him and glowered into the locker room for a shower.

He ignored them when he entered, even if it was hard to ignore their glances, marking his movements, expecting him to go berserk anytime. Forcing himself to think about Lilia. He had grounded her for the morning, but the afternoon would be a different story. There was schoolwork to think about – she was going to be way ahead of all her future colleagues if he had it his way – so Creed peeled off the uniform and stood under the cold shower, thinking it over. Maybe he'd take her out and do some Maths applied to the real world... like how many times she could climb up and down a tree in five minutes. He almost grinned at the idea, relaxing somewhat. He loosely noticed that the men had finished their own showers and were now getting dressed, so he washed up quickly and closed the shower, too. When he reached for his towel, though, he heard Kitty's voice.

Frowning, he listened intently. The girl was definitely angry but too far off for him to understand what she was saying. Then she yelled "Lilia!" just a bit louder and there was little doubt what could be happening. A growl immediately in his throat, he made a bee line for the door while he wrapped the towel around his waist, alarming the X-Men. To the left, he could even see Logan ready to unsheathe his claws. They were such morons! He was nowhere near to go berserk, damnit!

Reaching the door, Creed opened it, sniffed the air and hollered: "Lilia Victoria!" He listened for another moment, his nose guaranteeing that no one was coming closer. "I ain't gonna repeat myself, Victoria; get in here now!"

Now there was some movement. Behind him Logan told the others that Lilia must be playing up again, because Kitty had been calling out her name, and his blood boiled anew. It seemed like an eternity before the child showed up in the corridor, completely covered in mud, Kitty walking annoyedly at her side. Head down, she stopped in front of him, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her previously light blue dress. Clenching his teeth against the sudden urge to break everything around him, Creed growled.

"Why ain't you in yer room, Victoria?"

The men in the room were trying to peek around him, but his bulk, still wrapped in nothing but the towel, wholly covered the entrance. Vexed, Kitty closed her fists and claimed she had taken her out to make a get-well card for Isabel.

"If I says she's ta stay in her room, she's ta stay there till _I_ says so!"

She had been expecting some type of reproach, obviously, but she still wasn't happy about it. Behind him, he could feel Rasputin getting fired up.

"Why're ya covered in mud, Victoria? Look at me when I'm talkin' t'you!"

Lilia's chin trembled and shivered as she did look up and Creed clenched his teeth harder. It wasn't mud but earth, covering most of her cheeks and forehead, not to mention her shoulders, arms and the front of the dress. Her hair had not only dirt but grass leaves, roots and little twigs; a definite rat's nest. She mumbled something that sounded like camouflage to his ears while her eyes teared up. She didn't have a guilty look about her, as she usually did when she knew she had done something wrong; she just looked frightenedly expectant. And it wasn't really her fault she wasn't in her room if Pryde had been the one to get her out.

He couldn't trust any X-Men would-be babysitters! He took a step back to give her passage.

"Get in the shower and wash that dirt off ya." Obediently, the girl hurried up to the showers and took off the dress before crouching to fumble with the shoes. "Pappa will get ya some soap in a minute."

Creed glared at Kitty, who was also glaring at him, although he couldn't fathom why. She had been the one breaking the child out and then letting her get all messed up.

"I said she was grounded," he snarled in a low voice. "Ya had no business gettin' her out."

The girl flushed a bit but didn't immediately say anything. He didn't bother to give her much of his time, either. He walked up to the showers and picked up a bar of soap from his locker, handing it to Lilia.

"Careful," he said distractedly as her little face lit up over the toy. She loved playing with soap, laughing delightedly every time she grabbed it hard and it shot out of her hands. "It ain't fer playin', Victoria. I mean it."

She shook her head in a gleeful negative and Creed knelt down to finish taking off her shoes. Then he opened the shower, helped her get plenty of soap on her hands and put the bar on the ground, by the drain, so she couldn't turn the showering into a game with the slippery soap.

"Go on. Rub that face an' those arms clean."

Fresh water drops were trickling down his right arm but he ignored them. He didn't ignore Summers's remark, though, that Lilia shouldn't be showering in the men's locker room.

"Why?" His mood softened as he watched the girl rub her arms with serious determination. "Ya gettin' flushed seeing a five-year-old havin' a shower?"

He turned to Pryde before the man could retort. Maybe he should demand Wagner's woman to babysit. She was a Mamma herself, so she should know how to be strict with a punishment while being able to deal with tantrums safely. But first things first.

"What happened? Why's she covered in dirt?"

Rasputin had gone over to her side, like some knight in shining armour, and Kitty raised her head, both vexed and haughty.

"We had been making a get-well card for Isabel _in her room_ , but then we went out to get some flowers so we could go back to the room and glue their petals to the card."

Creed nodded.

"And ya were yellin' after her 'cause."

Taking a deep breath, she conceded.

"I turned my back for a moment and she disappeared. When I found her, she was rubbing dirt all over herself; then I brought her inside to give her a bath and she ran away from me."

Rasputin was looking at him as if daring him to try and rebuke her. It made him sick, the whole lot. Creed glanced at Lilia to calm himself and saw the child hadn't been rubbing at all, since she was still covered in dirt.

"Didn't I tell ya ta rub the dirt off ya, Lilia. Don't ya know how t'shower anymore?"

Lilia looked up with an expression of injustice and claimed she was wubbin'.

Creed had never allowed the girl to get away with talking back. He might let a cheeky, puppy-eyed retort slide, he might even overlook sassy comebacks when they were playful and mellow, but any angry retort or grumbling, usually accompanied of either a stubborn frown or sulk, was quickly squashed by immediate grounding. It was a completely different thing when she simply defended herself with a justification, which was basically an excuse. Creed tended to listen to her then. Kids do see things differently, after all. He needed to understand the girl's reasoning if he wanted to set her straight and make sure the faulty reasoning wouldn't get her in trouble again. Although it usually did. It often took several explanations for a faulty reasoning to be uprooted and replaced by something sensible. Common sense doesn't come naturally to children, he'd discovered.

In this particular instance, he frowned and went back to the shower to inspect the problem. He picked one arm up and rubbed a finger over her skin. A look of incredulity relaxed his clenched muscles for a moment as he crouched next to the girl, taking a better look at her arm, then her face.

"Did ya put glue on yer skin?"

A hand hovering over her eyes to protect them from the falling water, Lilia shook her head energetically.

"Not skin, Pappa. Ony a wee'a bit on the face an' the a'ms. Ah, an' the dwess, 'cause it's vewy wight and Kitty and ev'yone can see an' they see me, and I camouf'age!"

Creed straightened up with a defeated sigh and massaged his forehead, shaking his head slightly.

"Ya don't camouflage with glue an' dirt, Lilia!" He growled under his breath. "Ya use paint. Special paint fer the skin that can be washed off easily; not markers, nor felt-tip pens nor anythin' like that; an' certainly _not_ glue."

Looking about him, Creed set his eyes on the wide bench and moved for it. There was a towel on it, as well as a shampoo bottle, but they weren't his so he didn't care when he picked up the bench and made them fall. In a fluid movement, he let the bench down near Lilia, careful ot let it make a big bang, and then went to his locker and got a clean towel.

Summers complained but he didn't even hear it – no use getting bothered with whatever the man might be saying. Instead, he wetted the towel under the still running shower, closed it and sat down on the bench, pulling Lilia closer. Then he started rubbing the glue off the girl's face. He focused on the job at hand, forcing himself to ignore the X-chumps behind him. To ignore everything besides the here and now, besides Lilia's hissing and mute whining, her face grimacing when he rubbed too hard.

"Next time ya thinks o' gluein' yerself t'somethin', ya'll remember takin' it off ain't nice."

It was coming off easily enough, though; peeling off her skin bit by bit and leaving behind only a slight redness. Soon – and he was glad she hadn't put much glue on her face – he started working on her arms.

"I can do that," Kitty caught him off guard, having approached till she was standing next to him without him noticing. "You don't have to worry ab..."

"Shut yer yap!" He snapped immediately, the anger he had almost forgotten simmering back to the surface. "Now ya don't want me worryin' 'bout my own daughter?!"

"She didn't say that," Rasputin warned him. "She's offering you her help. You should be thankful there are people willing to help you."

Creed looked back at the Russian man, almost snarling. As if anyone was willing to help him. They were willing to help the child, not him.

"I'd be thankful if she was a babysitter I could trust instead o' bustin' the girl out of her punishment."

Pryde's face reddened, but she clenched her jaws and signalled Rasputin to be quiet.

"I'm sorry. I should have talked to you first."

Creed pulled Lilia's other arm to him and once more focused on it, finding it a good way of keeping his anger in check. His voice was still hard and spiteful, though.

"What you, and everyone else in this joint, by that matter, gotta do is remember that I am the father, whether ya like it or not. And I ain't 'bout ta go berserk, damnit!"

Kitty remained standing besides him until Creed interrupted the rubbing to get up. Towering above the young woman for the couple of seconds it took him to readjust the towel around his waist, his eyes studied her determined expression.

"Did ya put glue in yer hair, Lilia?" He asked without taking his eyes off the young woman.

"No, Pappa. No g'ue in my hair. Uh-un."

He turned to go to his locker, picked up his comb and shampoo and then stopped in front of Kitty, dropping it on the bench.

"Ya still wanna make yerself useful? Start combin' those leaves an' twigs out of her hair."

He didn't wait for her response and again sat down, continuing his work on Lilia's arm. Next to him, Kitty picked up the comb and got down to her job, disentangling Lilia's hair.

"Uh... Lilia, honey, are you sure you didn't put glue in your hair?"

Lilia's head shook energetically, but Creed's booming voice drowned her words.

"Didn't she just say she didn't? Ya're callin' her a liar or somethin'? Or is it another of yer misunderstandings?"

Glaring straight at him, Kitty spit the facts: "She's got glue in her hair."

Creed's hands itched with the urge to grab that neck and shred it into little pieces. Instead he picked Lilia and placed her on the bench, standing up, to study the claim. Handfuls of hair strands were indeed glued and the reason was obvious: the child had had glue on her hands. Which meant she had accidentally transferred some of the glue onto her long hair, which was now all glued to hell.

Clenching his teeth again, Creed made up his mind. First of all, he was not going to acknowledge that Pryde was right. Secondly… Isabel herself would have done it, if she'd been around. He held the girl's hair in one hand then unsheathed his claws and cut the whole thing in a swipe. Then he picked more handfuls and cut them off, too, ocasionally combing the hair with his fingers looking for more glued strands. When he fancied all the glued up hair had been chopped off, he picked the child up and took her to the shower, turning the water on. He ruffled the hair until he thought it was wet enough, then took her back to the bench and started shampooing it.

"Keep yer eyes closed." He said matter of factly before again picking her up and taking her back to the shower to rinse it.

When he sat Lilia on the bench, his towel was so heavy with all the water it had absorbed, it was slithering down his waist. Creed went to the closets where the clean towels were kept and took two, one which replaced the one around his waist, and the other that soon landed on Lilia's head. She giggled when Creed started ruffling the extra water off her hair with the towel and held on to it when he handed it to her. Finally he reached a hand out for Kitty, gazing impatiently at her until she returned him the comb, and then started combing Lilia's hair. When he figured it was good enough, he took a step back.

"Look at me, girl." She did so with a bright smile and Creed frowned, taking in the short and uneaven haircut. "Yer Mamma's gonna have a fit when she sees ya."

"Why do you say that?"

There was a hint of worry in Kitty's voice and Creed looked at her, hesitating a moment.

"Isabel's all about little girls havin' long hair," he ended up answering without any taunts.

He was feeling thoroughly spent with the roller-coaster of emotions swinging from anger to somewhat calm all morning. He just wanted to get away from everyone and pull himself together near his woman and child. Was that so much to ask for?

"Think ya can get her dressed? And maybe make that haircut a bit more even, if ya got any hairdresser's skills."

"I'll handle it," she answered just as neutrally.

Perhaps Pryde wouldn't bail Lilia out of other punishments from now on. He might want to give Wagner's woman a try, but Pryde lived at the Mansion so she would always be the best baby-sitter he could get his hands on for the time being.

"Com'ere t' Pappa."

Lilia's smile shone eagerly as she spread out her little arms and he picked her up. Her little hands clung to his neck and he kissed her cheek, breathed in her scent. It was so soothing, so reassuring.

"Ya're gonna behave now, ain't ya, my Lil' Devil?"

Lilia straightened up, sitting on his arm and scrapping her tiny fingernails over his jaw before nodding happily.

" 'Course ya are. And ya ain't gonna use no glue an' dirt t'camouflage, are ya?"

Her smile turned a bit embarrassed and she shook her head from side to side.

"No, 'course ya ain't. 'Cause Pappa is gonna get ya some proper camouflage face paint so ya don't do no more nonsense stuff like that."

She giggled and swung excitedly in his arms. The sudden idea made Creed grin.

"And how's about Pappa gets ya a huntin' camouflage suit, too, huh?"

Her eyes shone wide and she shrieked a 'yes'. Where the hell he was going to find one to fit her little size was beyond him, but he'd find it. If Isabel was in any condition, she'd probably want to make the little suit herself. Oh, well. Back to serious matters.

"That settles it, Lil' Devil. As soon as Pappa can go out int'a shop, ya'll have yer whole camouglafe kit. But first Pappa needs ya ta listen up, ya hear?"

Her enthusiasm cooled down.

"You ain't ever, _ever_ runnin' away from Kitty, ya hear? She calls ya, ya stop yer fun an' games and do what she says. No buts. Are we clear on this?"

Lilia's little shoulders sagged and she sulked.

"Are we clear?"

She nodded.

"Good. Now speak up, girl! What d'ya do when Kitty calls ya?"

With a resigned sigh, the girl droned the words out.

"I stop pwayin' an' do what she says."

"That's my Lil' Devil."

She looked up and swung in his arm a bit more.

"And when do I camouf'age, Pappa?"

"Soon." He kissed her cheek again, once more breathing in her scent, then passed her on into Pryde's arms. "Right now, ya're goin' back t'yer room with Kitty, ok? She's gonna get ya dressed, and she's gonna fix yer hair, and ya're gonna behave, ain't ya?"

She nodded.

"One more time: what d'ya do when ya hears Kitty call?"

"I do what Kitty says," she mumbled, pouting slightly.

Creed held her little face with a hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"Pappa'll take ya out t'play after lunch," he told her, promising himself he'd spend the entire afternoon with her no matter what Summers said. Her smile came back, joyful. "Go on with, Kitty, now. Go on."

As Pryde took the child away, his emotions started swinging back into resentful frustration. He needed to feel the woman in his arms, to see her safe, to hear her heartbeat steady and calm, to smell her. He needed to find out what she feared and then fix it, since he was now sure that had been the reason why she'd kept silent. But until he could talk to her and find out the problem… until then there was nothing he could do.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	12. Misgivings

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **12\. Misgivings**

Hank sat on the chair, looking at the sleeping Isabel. In his mind, though, he was going through all his knowledge about the woman. And he was very much aware how precious little it was.

He knew she was in apparent good health. He knew she had a rare blood type, but he didn't have an inkling concerning its nature. And he had had no idea she was pregnant. Why hadn't she confided in him? If she had intended to maintain that information secret, he would have respected her wishes and preserved the necessary secrecy. Obviously, though, Isabel hadn't trusted him. In an effort to gain her trust, he had delayed starting analysis on her blood. He would do so only after receiving her consent so she could conclude he was trustworthy.

It begged the question 'why?'.

The Isabel he vaguely remembered from years back had been a timid yet resolute young woman. He remembered best her cool determination when refusing further medical exams. She'd been experimented upon, he recalled. That would explain some of her renitence about consulting with him. Surely, though, she understood the importance of having medical assistance throughout a pregnancy.

Another factor, and Hank's first thought, was Creed. He was distrustful to the extreme and he still saw the X-Men as his enemies, that much was obvious from his every interaction. Isabel might have felt constrained to uphold the villain's distrust by not confiding her state.

Then there was another factor to consider. Could Creed have been pleased with the prospect of having a second child? Once more, his first thought had been to scoff at the idea. It would have been all too natural for Isabel to have been afraid to let him discover her pregnancy and, not knowing who to trust, had remained silent.

However, thinking it through calmly, he did possess good parenting qualities. Could he, then, welcome the prospect? Ignoring the man's backstory and keeping in mind solely his current behaviour around Lilia and Zelig, Hank was forced to admit there was actually a good probability Creed might welcome a second child. There had been a moment, the day before, when Creed had actually shown himself distressed by the loss of his would-be son. For a few seconds, before he'd asked about his daughter, he'd been clearly disoriented and on the verge of breaking down. On the other hand, had the pregnancy been unexpected, he might not have welcomed the timing. In this case, Isabel might have feared his reaction.

Were there other probable causes that explained both Isabel's stress and distrust? Certainly. The environment in the Institute had been rather unwelcoming towards her connection to Creed, culminating in her child discovering she was afraid of her father and assuming her mother was a coward. Most unfortunate and upsetting. That was definitely a cause for emotional stress and a reason to further entrench her into her distrust.

However, the aforementioned factors did not satisfactorily explain her behaviour, and it was said behaviour which Hank had set off to understand so as to fulfill his duties as a doctor to the best of his abilities.

Creed had claimed Isabel was not afraid but simply apprehensive and, naturally, he had followed that line of inquiry. Ever since his mutation had been jumpstarted and he'd taken on a more feline appearance, Hank had discovered that his own healing factor and heightened senses had also been much improved. Nevertheless, his senses were still not a match for Logan's, neither in degree nor in experience. Therefore, he had ignored his own empirical findings and had interviewed Logan.

His colleague had eventually admitted that yes, Isabel was more often apprehensive than fearful, if one wanted to split hairs. But he had still maintained that there were enough situations when actual fear was present. Those situations, in as far as he had witnessed, had always happened when Creed was present or, in alternative, when his standing on the team was mentioned in her presence.

Hank had further enquired into how Logan distinguished apprehension from fear, but the other man had shrugged it off. There was a fine line between fear and apprehension, he had stated, and it really wasn't important. It was more about how intense the scent was than anything else.

Hank could clearly identify uneasiness, though he identified it much more from one's heartbeat rate in conjunction with other visual cues rather than through scent. Logan, however, had told him there's a definite scent that goes with it, faint and subdued, true, but a definite scent. Once more, he claimed, if Hank could smell fear, then the scent they were talking about wasn't much different. More subtle, but close enough. In fact, Logan had claimed, intense fear, skyrocketing and bordering panic, is so intense one could almost categorise it as a different smell altogether. Hank was aware of that, how the intensity of fear morphed the scent emanating from one's body, and concluded that the difference between fear and apprehension was simply too subtle for the class of his senses. Logan had then gone on to say that the difference between intense dread and fear was far more conspicuous than the difference between apprehension and fear.

"If ya ask me, Blue," Logan had said at the end of the interview, "Creed doesn't want to accept the truth. The woman may not be scared to death of him, but she is scared. Fortunately, he isn't in any position to actually hurt her, so that fear comes out as borderline apprehension. And that asshole decided to see her apprehension as a sign of worry instead of what it really is. That's all there is to it."

But, once again, that opinion had enough contradictions. First of all, Creed had been truly upset by the notion that Isabel might fear him. Why? If he was abusive, even if only occasionally, then it was only natural she'd fear his abuse and, therefore, himself. In fact, all of his known behaviour supported the idea that he had forced Isabel into her current status and the only way he could have done so was through fear. It was his natural modus operandi. What could have possibly led to this delusion that Isabel didn't fear him?

Emma had offered little interest in exploring the conundrum. She had assured him that whatever emotions she read coming from the woman – whether it was apprehension, anxiety or fear – could very well be due to her being a telepath, so there was nothing she could say on that behalf.

"She is clearly terrified of telepaths and has been taught to hide her thoughts and emotions when one is around."

As for Creed, he was obviously distressed. Very emotionally and heartachingly distressed.

"And that, my dear, tells me our rampant killing machine has a definite soft spot for someone other than that little screeching devil. Useful tidbit, wouldn't you say?"

Indeed. If Creed possessed feelings for Isabel, then he probably would not want her to be afraid of him. That could explain why he refused to see her fears for what they were.

Hank's inquiries had allowed him to come to two main conclusions:

First of all, the reason behind Isabel's fear was clearly a combination of three factors: the threat that Creed represented, the threat that a residing telepath represented to herself, and the threat of trusting Creed's enemies. Naturally, Creed was behind most of it.

Secondly, the reason behind Isabel's distrust was born of the aforementioned factors. To trust Creed's enemies was to betray him and, therefore, she incurred in his wrath.

Unfortunately, none of those conclusions had so far offered a path to gain Isabel's trust. Despite her fear, she was deeply attached to the man and gave no sign of wishing to escape their relationship, quite the opposite. And gaining her trust was what he needed to secure if he was to help the young woman.

Even more unfortunately, the image of Isabel as being submissive and fearful made her recent behaviour quite unexpected.

Isabel had woken up three times since she had lost consciousness, post miscarriage, and she had never been herself, even if there had been a definite evolution. The first time, she hadn't recognised anyone. She'd tried to escape, wounding herself when she wrenched the IV needle and trying to wound those in her way. Curiously, she hadn't talked much, but the few words she had pronounced had all been in her native Portuguese.

The second time she'd woken up, in the middle of the night, she had found herself restrained to the bed. In retrospective, that seemed to have been the main factor behind her panic. Nevertheless, she had had enough presence of mind to call for help, and the one name she'd call for had been Creed's. Veetohr, she had cried over and over again, until the tranquilizers had induced her back to sleep. Clearly, she saw Creed as a protector, at least at that time, not as an abuser.

Following the event, he'd decided to unrestrain her, believing that the third time she came round, she might be conscious enough of the events previous to her coming to the infirmary. She had, indeed. But she'd also been very impetuous, obsessive and verbally aggressive. She had demanded information about her baby, details. Should he have produced the details she had asked for? Of course not. It would have further excited her sanguine disposition. She might have viewed herself at fault, causing an emotional breakdown, or she might have refused to accept any responsibility and become physically violent. It was an unfortunate situation since she was physically weakened from blood loss and the miscarriage itself. Both emotional rollercoasters and physical exertions were to be avoided at all costs. It was preferable to sedate her to keep her subdued... but not indefinitely. Sooner, rather than later, she'd have to face her fragile condition and make peace with her loss. But what to do if she insisted in leaping off the bed and attack those around her? Attack herself even? Another surprising trait, her disregard for her own well-being.

He shook his head. What could he do to obtain her trust and, therefore, to have her follow his instructions on the path to a full recovery? And why had she exhausted herself at Creed's side, knowing it might harm her unborn baby? For surely she had been aware of the danger of over-taxing herself in her condition!

Hank had been delaying an interview with Creed himself. He knew the man would not be forthcoming. Although, if he trully had feelings for Isabel, perhaps he'd be more candid than expected. At any rate, he might offer some insights into Isabel's…

A slight movement caught his attention and Hank let go of his line of thought. He remained attentively quiet by her side. Isabel took a few deep breaths, slowly escaping the dreamless sleep induced by the drugs, then she opened her eyes and gazed blindly at the ceiling. Once more, Hank remained absolutely still, allowing the woman all the time she might need. Eventually, her head slid to the side and she saw him. Their eyes met, silently and reactionless, for a moment.

"My baby," she said softly.

Hank decided to avoid a direct confrontation.

"Do you recall anything?"

Isabel closed her eyes, frowning slightly, and her lips quivered lightly.

"Perdi-o," and her voice quivered too. "Please. What happened to my baby?"

"You mustn't blame yourself," Hank told her gently.

He'd have liked to say that there had been nothing she could have done to avoid it, but he knew it wasn't so. Had he been informed, he could have shielded her at least partially from the brunt of the previous month's strain. But of course he couldn't say that; she must be preserved from further pressure.

"Staticics prove that most pregnancies meet unfortunate ends before the end of the first trimester."

"My baby..."

"I understand statistics hold no comfort, but you must first and foremost consider your health now. It should please you to know that you have suffered no lasting sequels from this unfortunate event. And, indeed, now is the time to focus our efforts on your swift recovery to ensure that even the temporary outcomes are as short lived as possible."

She was gazing dispassionately at him and Hank told himself he'd spoken too much and possibly too fast; Isabel was still under the tranquilizers' effect, after all.

"You must get well, Isabel. Make a complete recovery. Do you understand?"

Her face had no expression, even as her left hand flew over to the IV line and pulled it off.

"Isabel, don't!" But it was too late. The needle had ripped through the skin, blood flowing freely onto the bedsheets. "You've lost too much blood as it is, you mustn't hurt yourself further!"

Uncannily, her expression did not once change. Hank's pressing worry was to stop the bleeding – pulling the needle off had ripped open a quite deep and long wound – and he didn't immediately mind the needle in the woman's clenched fist.

"My baby," she uttered in a deep, detached voice.

Applying pressure over the wound, Hank looked up to witness the strength of the woman's closed fist around the needle, which was puncturing and tearing new wounds.

"My baby," an edge of neurotic obsession joined its detachment. "My, baby. My, baby. My. Baby."

Hank nearly swore under his breath. In a backwards flip, he reached for the tranquilizer and quickly injected the limp arm.

"Tell me, my baby," she still insisted, her eyes gazing in dull detachment. "My baby. Please!"

* * *

The moment Creed exited the shower room and saw Hank heading his way, his whole body tensed up. Hank knew what the man was thinking even before he half-snarled "S'about time she woke up!"

Hank would have preferred a more civile "Is she awake yet?" or "Can I see her now?", but he hadn't really expected it. The man wasn't civile, after all, and it took a good mood or at least some conscious effort for him to pretend to possess some courteousness. Moreover, his angry expression once more impressed Hank as being the opposite of what Isabel required at the moment. She had called for him, true; however, she had felt under attack when she had done so. But even if she had been conscious of her situation, still Hank would hesitate before bringing the man to her presence.

"I'm afraid she's not awake, yet." He reconsidered. "Or rather, she became disturbed and is once more asleep."

The deep growl and stiff members showed clearly how much of an effort the man was doing to avoid any movements that might be deemed aggressive.

"Ya doin' that on purpose, Doc? Keepin' the woman sedated so I can't talk t'her?"

"As I explained last night and again this morning, Creed, it is in her best interest to avoid any type of agitation, including emotional turmoil. Now tell me, what interests _you_ the most? Isabel's well-being or your whim of talking to her?"

Creed looked away, eyes showing nothing but fury, and Hank knew that he would not allow him near Isabel unless he deemed the man capable of withholding every and any indication of anger. On the other hand, the psychopath could give evidence of extreme stubbornness when aggravated and Hank needed him pliable if he were to obtain any answers from him.

"You must understand: Isabel has lost a lot of blood and is terribly weak. Every time she has woken up, she has never once been fully aware of her situation. And I'm certain you know you will not be able to have a conversation until she is fully conscious. That is your aim, is it not? To pursue a sensible dialogue?"

The man clenched his jaws but lowered his head slightly, thus indicating his agreement, though unwilling. Nevertheless, it was all Hank required. Turning to Scott, who'd been waiting behind him, he warned: "I need to discuss a few details with Creed, Scott. We'll join everyone for lunch as soon as possible."

"What're ya babblin' 'bout?"

The usual distrust shone in the man's amber eyes.

"I'll explain in a moment. If you will follow me..."

He did, promptly. Expectation and curiosity gave themselves away freely as Hank closed his lab's door and motioned him to a seat. Nevertheless, the blond held his tongue and waited, with anxious patience.

"As I've stated, Isabel has yet to recover consciousness of what has befallen her. And I admit I'm not certain when that will be... Perhaps next time she awakens, perhaps not." Creed's mouth closed to a thin line. "However, I believe there may be something I can do to help stabilise her current condition. Unfortunately, I lack the necessary information to do so."

He narrowed his eyes, a suspicious frown growing above them.

"What d'ya wanna know?"

"What is your psychological evaluation of Isabel's character?" The frown deepened considerably. "Have you witnessed any situation where Isabel might have shown an unstable, erratic or obsessive behaviour?"

"What are ya talkin' 'bout?"

Hank should have known he'd have to offer some information before getting any himself.

"During her stay, Isabel has so far displayed a great deal of distrust, determination and placid reserve." Hank consciously omitted apprehension. "But in her current condition, she has exhibited a tendency for obsessive behaviour. She asks about her baby repeatedly and becomes agitated, sometimes violently so."

Creed's cautious lack of reaction told Hank the man was not surprised.

"I take it you find it a normal behaviour."

"Some folks get violent when they ain't themselves," he shrugged.

"Especially when they are frightened or feel under attack," Hank pointed out. "And Isabel has apparently experienced a similar stressful situation. How does she usually react to stressful situations?"

Creed laid back on the chair and said nothing.

"Were you upset in anyway with her pregnancy? Perhaps it wasn't the best timing..."

The man's angry eyes glanced about the room in a show of annoyed disrespect, but once more said nothing.

"Why do you wish to talk to Isabel? What do you intend to ask her?"

A half-sneer of contempt.

"If you truly wish to talk to her, Creed, it would be wise to answer my questions."

Hank knew the veiled threat would get the man's attention, and he wasn't even surprised by the snarl, though he hadn't expected the man to suppress it half-way.

"So, what do you wish to converse with Isabel?"

There was a stiff silence before the man grumbled the answer.

"I wanna know why she ain't told no one nuthin' 'bout her bein' pregnant an' stuff."

Oh. Then that was an interview to be delayed as much as possible.

"Were you..." Wait, focusing on the man might have the opposite effect of the veiled threat. "I mean, could Isabel have thought you were upset with the pregnancy or its timing?"

He shrugged.

"Ask _her_. I ain't no telepath t'know what she thinks an' don't thinks."

"She has been frightened recently, not to mention she's been under a great deal of stress."

"Well, 'course she has! Ya told her kid she's afraid o' me!"

Hank bit back a sigh of impatience.

"Can you think of any other..."

"Ask. _Her_."

Hank took a deep breath to control his own growing irritation.

"I would certainly have if she were awake and conscious. As it is, I'm asking _you_. Now I suggest you start cooperating."

Creed clenched his teeth, hopefully forcing himself into greater cooperation.

"I don't go about imaginin' reasons fer the woman's actions, McCoy. I wanna know what's goin' on in her head, I asks her. If she ain't in no state t'answer, then ya gotta wait, same as I do."

Not satisfying, but cooperative enough.

"Very well. You've stated she can get violent when upset..."

A sudden wave of alarm flowed through the man's countenance.

"I ain't said nuthin' o' the sort!"

Curious reaction.

" _Some people get violent when they aren't themselves_ , your words. I had just informed you Isabel had had a violent outburst, so it follows that Isabel can get violent when she's upset and 'not herself'."

The man swallowed and closed a fist.

"Isabel ain't violent."

"So this outburst I've mentioned is uncharacteristic and surprising, isn't it?" His clenched teeth indicated a conflict of ideas. What was he holding back? "Or is it?"

"She ain't violent."

"I see."

Hank took a deep breath. Creed would not be much more cooperative, he was now certain. But what if he upped the stakes? If he truly had feelings for Isabel, he might be willing to be more open to get to her.

"Creed, if you answer me honestly, I will consider giving you leave to see Isabel as soon as she regains consciousness. You may even sit by her side until she wakes up, if you so desire."

He didn't mention he would not be allowed to ask any questions that hadn't been previously sanctioned. The offer had a profound impact, nevertheless, as Creed took a couple deep breaths, looked about and adjusted himself in the seat. His heartbeat was much faster than normal and there were other signs of anxiety that did not escape Hank's eye. Perhaps Emma really was on to something.

"Have you ever seen or heard of Isabel becoming violent for whatever reason?"

The man literally held his breath, frowning and avoiding eye contact.

"She don't usually loses her cool, no matter what."

Why did the man insist on circumventing the question of Isabel's potential for violence? After all, he viewed violence as a normal part of everyday life. Why the... oh.

"Has she ever become violent against herself?" The man's mouth became a sudden thin line and the frown deepened, teeth still clenched. "Has she ever made any attempt on her life? Creed, this is of the highest importance! If Isabel has a historical of suicide attempts, even if only when she's not herself... _especially_ if when she's not herself, then you must say so immediately!"

"She ain't gonna kill herself, ya moron!"

The reaction seemed honest enough. On the other hand, if it reflected the man's beliefs rather than the reality...

"Has Isabel ever had a suicidal episode or recklessly endangered her life due to being upset?"

"She ain't gonna kill herself!" Creed got up, anger simmering. "Ya know what, I don't give a damn what ya consider or don't consider. Ya wanna know stuff 'bout Isabel, ya ask her directly. It's all none of yer business, anyways! All ya gotta do is get her back on her feet, period. Go play the shrink with somebody else!"

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	13. Memories

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **13\. Memories**

Everything was still. Light. Bright even. Unmoving. Isabel blinked, not recognising where she was, and tried to sit up. Her whole body was heavy and sore, but she forced it to obey her. Once she had sat up, she felt calmer again. Everything was still. Her eyes moved lethargically, taking in her whereabouts. Look, there was a big fridge with a glass door. Things inside it that weren't food. And the counter. There were papers there, too. And a computer. A tiny red speckle scintillated on the monitor and caught her eye. She gazed at it sleepingly. When her eyes started moving again, they noticed the papers on the counter. A fridge with glass doors. A door that stood ajar, showing darkness on the other side. Another door, this one closed. A great expanse of white wall. Beds. Empty beds.

A thumping noise shocked her heart into a mad race and her head swirled around towards a window. She had to blink twice before she realised the dark shape belonged to a bird. It chirped once. Twice. Then it flew off. Blinking, her eyes traded the now gone dark shape of the bird for the bright light prisioned outside. She sat there, hypnotised by the brightness. Eventually, she realised how far away from her it was and got up to reach it.

Her body felt alien and refused to respond promptly, but she forced it. Slowly. A bit of pain here, soreness there, stiffness somewhere else. It didn't matter, though; not as Isabel kept her thoughtless gaze on the bright window. The floor was cold against her feet, but the rest of her body must have been too busy to notice it since the feeling hardly reached up to her ankles. It was so bright, the day on the other side of the invisible window pane; yet, it was so irreparably unaccessible. Curiously, the window glass was cold, too. It felt neither good nor bad on her hands, but her forehead liked its tender bite. Nevertheless, Isabel could feel the intense heat on the other side of the cold glass. All its cheer, carefreeness and happiness. All the joy that was banned to her, even if it paraded so freely in front of her, inviting her to join in.

Isabel frowned lightly, trying to catch the idea that floated very discretely through the haze of her mind, but it was in vain. Her head was empty. Annoyingly empty. So why wasn't she getting annoyed? Irritated? Upset? Angry? Another thought formed itself, but this time she was able to grab it: this is wrong. This wasn't her, this alien calm that tied her to slow movements, missing feelings and forced stupidity. It wasn't her at all.

Glancing away from the window, she felt the vertigo. It wasn't physical, though.

" _Never fall in love, if you can_ ," the voice came from the small stone step at the entrance of Grandma Lilia's house, which the late afternoon sun would heat up into lazy, timeless comfort. " _You can be perfectly happy without love. If you do your work right and are honest with yourself and the world, you'll be happier than most folks._ "

Isabel felt the sun of the Spring on her naked arms and knees. Grandma Lilia would always sit on the entrance stone step while knitting or embroidering or doing something similar. She could spend hours there, working silently, chit-chatting to the few people that crossed the small, out of the way street where her house stood. But then Inês – because that was her name back then, in that long lost life – would arrive from school, get a glass of milk and a plate with bread and butter, and she would sit by her side, eating. Mimicking her silence. Waiting. Because, sooner or later, Grandma Lilia would start talking.

Sometimes it was an exciting story, like when her Uncle José das Quintas had been faced by a couple of bulls that had escaped from their field. Sometimes it was a thrilling story of her own childhood, like when a colleague had taken his shoes off to play football, during school recess, but someone had dropped them into a well and a couple of mindlessly brave children had descended to retrieve them. Sometimes it was a bittersweet story (at least for Grandma, judging from her voice and from the final sigh), like when someone's wife had had a particularly difficult labour and Grandma had had to kick the doctor out to save the baby. Sometimes it was a strange story – an important story from the grown-ups' school of life, no doubt – which she often found difficult to understand.

" _Why?_ "

Inês-Isabel had always loved the exciting stories of escaping bulls, thieves in the night and clever workers outsmarting their strict employers, but there was something alluring in those stories of giving birth – which were always explained in detail, each action taken and why, always ending with new life, bloodied and fragile, brought into existence only due to Grandma Lilia's knowledge. Most importantly, though, there was something terribly alluring in those cryptic warnings that might save her – in the distant future after her school days were over – from a life of bleak grief and aching.

" _When you aren't in love, your happiness depends on you, my dear. You do what God has destined for you, and that is enough to make you feel happy, and proud, and capable of facing the whole world. But when you are in love, your happiness depends on the man you want. If he does come to you when you need him, when you call for him, you will be happy. But if he doesn't come, or if he stops coming, then you will feel unhappy. Miserable. You may even feel satisfied with your life, your hardwork; but you will_ never _feel happy again._ "

Inês-Isabel heard Grandma sigh – she always sighed in a broodingly deep fashion after those warnings – and the vertigo attacked her again. She knew, quite clearly, that the dizziness was inside her head, maybe only inside her heart, but she still advanced to the bed drunkenly. The whiteness of the room oppressed her and for a moment she couldn't breathe properly. A frozen gust of wind blew through her insides, and Isabel knew that it wasn't her. Not right then, it wasn't. She needed to pull herself together, escape that cold nothingness inside her that stopped her normal reasoning and made her... suicidal. Like Victor used to say. Suicidal. Victor.

" _If he does come to you when you need him..._ "

"Veetohr," she whispered, not really realising her throat had produced any sound.

" _But if he doesn't come..._ "

"Veetohr."

She needed to think, to see her life with a clear mind, to face what must be faced calmly and steadily. But she couldn't think, she couldn't feel, she couldn't... she couldn't escape this mind prison that she couldn't even pinpoint.

"Veetohr!"

He could help her, clear her head, make her see. **He** could.

"Veetohr!"

If he came.

"VEETOHR!"

" _Sometimes,_ " Grandma Lilia explained while she checked her work, " _he may even want to come to you, but he won't be able to. Because people don't let him, for example. He could be in jail or away at work. Or because it wouldn't be proper. A man of good families will never come to a woman below him, even if that means he'll be just as miserable as she is. Or he could be dead. That will definitely keep a man away._ "

Because no. No, it wouldn't be proper. In Creston… In Creston, it was proper. In Creston, he did not keep away. Would never have. But Creston was a farse, would always be. Here, however… here was the real world. His real world, a world of fights and mutant wars and enemies and super-villains and… this was the real world. Sabretooth's world. It would never be proper no matter how much he might want…

"VEETOHR!"

Isabel didn't realise the despair that had sunk into her voice, her heavy breathing, her nails digging into the sheets and mattress, the half snarl twisting her lips. The room was no longer there, around her, only the fact that it wouldn't be proper. He might want to come to her. He might even want to kill the whole world to get to her. But it wouldn't be proper. It would never be proper... not in his world, not in his head.

" _I just hope and pray you won't have such a heavy fate to go through, my darling. Because, quite frankly, stubborn as you are, you'd sooner break than bend, wouldn't you? You'd fight against it, set the world on fire... and all for nothing because, really, you can't go against fate no matter how much you hate it."_

Someone rushed to her side, coming from nowhere, but all that mattered was that it wasn't Victor: _he_ would never come to _her_. Not in the real world.

" _You make peace and learn to live with it, that's all._ " Make peace with the fact that he would never come to her side? How could she ever! _"Or you'll live angrily and bitterly for the rest of your life."_

The touch on her skin shattered something inside her. She could have sworn she had hollered, like Victor did when he went berserk in a fight. She attacked the embodiment of fate that had dared to touch her – after all it had put her through, these last few years! – and she fought for all she was worth. Oh, how she wished she had learned something from Victor, when he had tried to teach her how to fight!

But fate can't be fought. More hands rained on her and scream as she might, kick and punch as she tried, fate could not be averted.

" _My silly little girl,_ " Grandma Lilia pulled Inês's brown eyes into hers, green as Winter. " _If something is meant to be, you can't change it; no matter what you do. That's what fate is all about, my darling._ "

"VEETOHR! VEETOHR!" Isabel cried, desperately, hopelessly, refusing to give in, rebelling even in defeat. "VEETOOOOOOHR!"

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	14. Facing reality

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **14\. Facing reality**

Isabel remained in bed, teeth clenched and hardened eyes on the ceiling. She was still fighting against reality: her head rabidly pointing out Victor wouldn't come to her side, her heart stupidly holding out for a miracle. Sometimes it felt like fury and resentment were drowning her, sometimes it felt like despair and mutiny were about to burst and throw her into an invincible berserker rage. So she remained, lying on the cold sheets of the infirmary bed, glaring at the ceiling, and praying hollow Hail Marys one after the other.

If she had felt her head clear and her mind in full control, perhaps she'd given in to those warring feelings. But she wasn't in control. And she remembered, with agonizing clarity, how she had lost it and attacked everyone around her the day before. Even Kitty! And why? Because the girl had touched her hand while trying to convince her to eat something? Did that justify the way she had grabbed the tray and thrown its contents at her? Or how she had jumped to her feet and hurled the blasted tray at the doctor, McCoy, who had come to Kitty's aid? Or how she'd yelled at them? Swearing and threatening and demanding to leave the infirmary? Isabel tried to clench her teeth harder against the shame of her actions, but found they were already at their maximum clenching capability. Had she been herself, she'd have felt immediately mortified and apologised; instead... instead she had stood there, while Hank told her that he would not keep on giving her tranquilizers and that, if she wanted to leave, she'd need to calm down and eat. She would not be allowed to leave until she had eaten solid food and he, her doctor, deemed her condition stable.

Eyes burning, Isabel ground the prayers harder and pushed back any semblance of tears. Just as she pushed back the need to scream until she was hoarse. Until the pressure in her chest was gone. Until everything was OK again.

The door opened and Isabel glared harder, heart beating obtusely at the idea it might be Victor while her head yelled that he'd die before debasing himself and his reputation by coming to her. Her heart holding out that he loved her, in his own way; her head laughing cynically he could only love himself. And even if he found it in him to love Isabel, even if he were to be on his hands and knees drowning in love, he'd still die before coming to her and letting anyone as much as dream he might have the smallest tender feeling for her. She lay in the bed, every muscle tense, forcing her body to remain still, clutching madly at those prayers to resist the urge to get up and scream, scream, scream...

A chair was pulled to her bed's side, but she refused to acknowledge whoever it might be. Doctor McCoy had left a tray with food, in the morning, and then they had left her alone until lunch time. Then someone else had come in, taken the breakfast tray and left a lunch tray. She never even looked at it, in case she might lose it again and throw it away.

"When Kurt first proposed to me," Isabel blinked, losing track of the prayer as she recognised Jenny's voice, but hardened herself against it. "He mentioned having children."

There was a pause and Isabel was surprised that she didn't feel the urge to drive her away, the way she had done to everyone else. She tried to resume the prayers but the words eluded her.

"He didn't know I couldn't have children. And it hurt me more than I thought possible, to realise I could never give him his own son or daughter. I could never give him the pleasure of being a father. His own flesh and blood."

The deep sigh at her side was both strong and pained, and it touched the wound under Isabel's anger and rebellion.

"It still hurts. Of course I don't know what it feels like to have a... a baby... growing inside me. And then to lose them. I can't even begin to comprehend how badly it must hurt."

Isabel closed her eyes, one last attempt at stopping the resentful tears that were once more burning her eyes.

"But you already have a child, Isabel. Your own flesh and blood... and she needs you."

She hardly strangled the sob that pushed through her throat.

"Lilia is so confused, Isabel! I'm pretty sure that, deep down, she thinks she's to blame that you got sick... that you lost the baby. And until she comes here and sees you smiling to her... until she hears you saying that everything's OK and understands that you still love her, that you aren't mad at her... she's not going to get better. She needs you, Isabel."

The tears burst quietly through her defences and Isabel couldn't help turning her head away from Jenny. The woman didn't say anything else, nor did she try to touch her. She just remained there, sitting quietly, waiting. She thought of Grandma Lilia, sitting on her doorstep.

"My baby..." In her head, the word comprised both Lilia and the unborn child.

"It wasn't your fault," Jenny stated, calmly. "Nor was it Lilia's."

In a sudden urge, she forced herself up. There was still a slight pain, soreness, which she never felt when she jumped up in fury. But much more painful was the bitter knot inside her.

"I didn't say I was pregnant."

"I'm sure you had your reasons." Isabel looked at Jenny, composed and peaceful at her side. "It's not your fault."

But the knot was still there, strong.

"I knew I had to say I was pregnant but... is not easy..."

Jenny said something in a low voice, comforting from the tone, but she was focusing on those bitter days.

"I knew I had to tell. I almost told... but den Victor was hurt and I was glad I didn't say nothing because... dey didn't want me to stay wid Victor, Jenny. If dey knew I was pregnant, den dey wouldn't have let me stay wid him."

But she had stayed, loyal and steadfast, while he... God, had he as much as asked about her? Once, just once. She shook her head to get rid of the present day anguish and ended up closing her eyes, reliving those anxious days and frightening nights when no one was sure if Victor would survive the wounds. She didn't reveal how she had feared for his life, how she had prayed to Our Lady of Fatima that, if someone must die, then please let it be the unborn baby rather than Victor. Had this been the answer to her prayers, then? She might as well see it that way because McCoy was obviously not going to tell her if the baby she'd been carrying... God, why had he (not he, it, you don't know if it was a boy) resisted until the 16th week when she usually miscarried before the 10th week? Maybe he (IT!) had had a healing factor counterbalancing the nefarious effect of her rare blood proteins. Maybe he had inherited her blood type. McCoy could have told her, if he had wanted.

It didn't matter, anyway. She had prayed for his life. Her Victor's. (He's not yours, her mind rubbed in.)

"I couldn't abandon him, Jenny. Everyone hates him... no one would be sad if he died."

"You know that Hank would have done everything to save him." Resentment bristled in her chest at the name. "After all, Hank _did_ everything he could to save him."

Isabel looked at Jenny, anguish growing inside her to match the resentment.

"But I couldn't abandon him, Jenny! I couldn't!"

Even if she had known he would leave her alone without a single thought, she still couldn't have abandoned him.

"I know," and for the first time, Jenny laid a light hand over hers. "I would have done the exact same thing in your place."

But the baby... a boy or a girl? At sixteen weeks, it was possible to know. McCoy could have told her, if he had wanted to. Even if a part of her knew it was silly to worry about it, since it made no difference, she couldn't help agonising over it. Even if she knew that, had it been a boy, she'd have still willingly traded the unborn child for Victor's life. Which didn't mean she couldn't be told! Why did everyone refuse to say anything about it? Perhaps Jenny...

"My baby?"

Jenny's fingers strengthened over her hand.

"It wasn't your fault, Isabel. You must understand that."

Fault! It had been everyone's fault: hers, her body's, Victor's... Still, this wasn't about fault, it was about knowing.

"What happened to my baby?"

Jenny's hand abandoned hers. Another one holding the truth from her.

"You'll have to ask Hank."

As if she hadn't asked. Over and over and over again... Give it up already, the bitter voice in her head rasped angrily. The baby was gone, just as much as Victor, who wouldn't as much as ask about her for fear of damaging his uncaring reputation while devotedly caring for his baby girl.

"Lilia..." and Victor, she didn't have the strength to finish.

"She's with Creed." Of course she was! Who else would she be with? "She was very upset, but she's much calmer now. Of course she's still confused, and insists in being with her father everywhere but... Don't you want to see her?"

She pictured it in her heart immediately: Victor coming in with Lilia in his arms, his face carefully blank while Lilia's would be a mix of apprehension and longing; then he would put her down on Isabel's lap and the child would melt into her embrace, just as always, while Victor would sit on the bed, protectively watching over both of them. The three together again. And then he'd embrace them, and they'd be whole. No more fears, no more hate, no more anger.

"Please..."

Jenny left with a smile and Isabel became acutely self-conscious. Getting up, she ignored the pain and went to the bathroom to study her reflection. She looked like a hag! Without a moment to lose, she washed her face and her mouth, then she used her fingers to comb her hair as best she could. Slightly better, even if she still looked like a hag. Unfortunately, there was nothing else she could do. She returned to the bed and laid back, waiting anxiously, bitterness again knotting itself in her throat.

It seemed like forever, before there was movement outside the door. It actually made her feel sick and she told herself she wasn't well enough for strong emotions yet. And then the door opened.

"Go on," Jenny's voice coaxed warmly. "Don't be shy."

Victor hadn't come. The wave of sickness hit her harder, bringing tears to her eyes and actually eliciting a strangled moan. But of course he wouldn't come! She'd been so silly to think he would! Just then, Lilia's head popped in and the sickness was gone under the pleasure of seeing her little girl's face. There was indeed apprehension in her awkward sulk and Isabel couldn't help the smile that came to her face.

"Lilia," she called, hardly noticing the tears flowing freely down her cheek, both arms out-stretched. Her baby girl was still glued to the door frame, but all would be fine once she did run over and into her Mamma's embrace. Everything would be fine then. "Vem à mãe, meu amor. Vem."

And yet she did not give in to the plea to come to her mother. It was a second dagger that brought the sickening anguish back onto her throat. Then Jenny came to her aid: a hand behind Lilia's head, she gently led her to her mother's side then she lifted her into Isabel's arms.

Isabel closed her eyes and held the little body as tight as she could. Tears kept running down her cheeks as she muttered sweet nothings on the girl's ear, just as she used to do when she was a baby and needed comforting. Lilia remained still in her arms, her little head resting quietly against her chest while Isabel played with her long strands of... uh... Isabel looked down at her baby's beautiful locks and found nothing but a short bob.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Pappa cut it," Lilia stated with a slight pout, sitting back on her lap while avoiding Isabel's eyes.

"But why?"

"'Cause Pappa wikes it mo'e this way!"

A wave of cold washed up and down her spine. The child was just saying that, it didn't mean Victor had actually cut it short the moment Isabel had gotten out of the picture. That would seem almost as if... He wouldn't. Victor knew how Isabel loved seeing the girl with long hair, either loose or in cute ponytails and piggytails and... Something must have happened that had required it to be cut short. Lice, perhaps?

"Actually," Jenny cut in with a smile. "She got glue on her hair, so it had t..."

"I didn't put gwue! And Pappa said it wooked much bette'! He said so!"

Isabel felt numb, gazing at her girl's angry scowl. Almost like something breaking inside. A cold vertigo washed over her as she realised that Lilia needed her father, right now. She needed to feel loved and secure in his arms. Isabel kissed her baby girl's forehead lightly, noticing how she flinched away, annoyed.

"Where is Pappa?"

"He's waiting fo' me," she explained, a slight pout showing clearly on her chin.

Of course he was.

"Den let's not keep Pappa wait very long, OK?"

For a moment, Lilia seemed a bit surprised, but then she smiled – a wide, happy smile that almost pierced through the icy numbness in Isabel's soul.

"Tell Pappa to take you horse-riding, OK? Tell him Mamma asked him to take you horse-riding."

Lilia nodded energetically and lept from the bed. She didn't even look at Jenny as she sped through the door, already calling out for Pappa. Isabel felt as if she wouldn't be seeing her daughter again any time soon and she barely held back a whimper.

"You need to start eating," Jenny sighed, her voice a bit disappointed. "You need to get your strength back so that she can start spending more time with you again."

No, she decided stubbornly, right there and then, squashing the pain of seeing her daughter running off. The moment she was out of the infirmary, they would get Victor and send him away on missions. Isabel was not going to have that happen. Lilia needed her father by her side, and he needed his Little Devil. He might not need Isabel, but he needed his daughter. That much she knew as surely as she was breathing! Isabel might need to get her strength back, but she would not return to her room. Not yet. True, the infirmary wasn't a pleasant place and it made her dreams even more restless, but it was a price well worth paying. Her daughter needed to be with her father till her fears were gone. A pang of abandonment punched her insides, but she held her head against it. They would be happy, father and daughter. So what if the price was her temporary exile in the infirmary? So what if the price was being away from her daughter? So what?

If it was what her daughter needed, she'd go through it.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	15. Stubbornness is all around

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **15\. Stubbornness is all around**

Chantal Moreau slid through both antiquities and modernities on display. Some were plain silly, like the button supposedly lost by Madonna during her first concert in France, while others were worth the attention, like a few unfinished sketches by Dali. Very little, though, was worthy of the incredibly high prices they often reached when being auctioned. Of course, those prices weren't exactly paid for those objects, but for certain other goods that came attached to the auctioned items.

Waiting for Gautier, Mystique stopped in front of a painting which included a sleeping disembodied head and a flying woman over a curtain of fishing nets. _Hot Pink with Cool Grey_ , the frame informed, by Milena Pavlovic-Barili. The signature on the painting, though, claimed authorship to MyLena Beloved.

"Ah, I see the lovely pastiche has struck your interest." Chantal turned to the smiling Gautier. "Amazing, isn't it? The painter managed to imitate the original painting with perftect attention to the details, but the face of the woman is in fact a portrait of the imitator's wife, which turns this painting into a work of art within a fake work of art. It would fetch a very high price for that particularity alone."

Which meant it was going to reach a stupidly high price.

"Have you chosen your token?" He lowered the voice slightly, to make sure the other people, also waiting for the auction to begin, couldn't overhear him.

"Madonna's button," and she couldn't hold back a tinge of scorn. Well, at least the piece was so worthless she didn't have to pay for it. The porcelain vase she had bought the day before, on the other hand, had piled one hundred euros to the eight hundred euro instalment she was supposed to pay for her true order.

Gautier praised her wise choice and stepped away to organise the transaction. Chantal still had one hour to wait before the auction started. In that hour, Gautier would instruct two or three people to bid for the button up until a certain price.

It would be a boring period, bidding for worthless objects until she managed to pay the two hundred thousand euros. Sighing, Mystique thought about Hyde. She had been almost certain he'd be back in Paris the day after Picard's death. Of course she had no way of knowing for sure if Roland really had killed the operative, but it was the most sensible thing to do. Maybe her suspicions were wrong. Then again, the delay of his return could have that exact reason. Nevertheless, she wished he was around. She really had nothing interesting to do and toying with the clone would have made up for the dullness.

Ah, another painting by the Serbian Milena; one of her many portraits, this time. Another forgery, naturally. Well, reproduction or pastiche or whatever they called it, since it wasn't being sold as an authentic piece. Mystique looked at it intently, looking for any purposeful mistakes that... Ha! An ipod, there, on the window sill.

Hearing approaching footsteps, she turned around to face Gautier. The people in the room were starting to move on to the adjoining room, where the auction would start in another quarter of an hour.

"I understand he was seen last night."

Chantal nodded.

"An unfortunate accident."

"And once more, he didn't kill the witness."

She avoided a smirk.

"Killing would call much more attention," she reminded, "and he's supposed to be dead. Besides, the description is vague enough that the authorities won't rush to proclaim a dead mutant alive, especially when his expertise has always been killing, not stealing. If he was to kill someone, though..."

Gautier grunted a 'right, right' but didn't seem much reassured.

"You have received the real Milena Barili painting, correct?"

"Don't say that name aloud," he hushed, sweating nervously.

Mystique could have rolled her eyes, but Chantal simply shrugged. The three forged paintings by the Serbian painter had been listed to be auctioned in a block a week before the robbery, not to mention none of them looked like the stolen one, so Gautier really had nothing to worry about.

"You should still tell him to be careful."

"I will. Shall we delay the next retrieval?"

The man shook his head. By now they were alone in the wide room, to the exception of two employees collecting the items that were to be auctioned in the upcoming session.

"No. The customers have already been informed of the item's availability, but maybe we should pause after that one." He took a step towards the adjoining room and Chantal followed him. "I must warn you that the Gulo Operation may be shut down soon despite your... persistence."

He meant stubbornness, really. And yes, she was aware. If she didn't possess so many resources, they would have shut it down after the first failed attempt.

"You should remind your colleagues that successfully killing a superpowered hero will make the price of the ammunition sky rocket. Especially because no one knows how to produce more of it."

"I have already done so." He stopped and looked intently at her. "I hope you appreciate how much I'm doing for your sake."

Because he obviously didn't appreciate all the stolen paintings she'd been siphoning into his hands as payment for all that support.

"Have you managed to procure what I requested?"

He handed her a card with a phone number.

"Text that number with the word 'ammonia'. Second and fourth letters as capitals. Then add time and coordinates."

That meant half the payment had already been made, and the other half would be done after the operation.

"Are they aware this is a suicide mission?"

"They're aware they'll be facing a deadly so far unknown mutant possessing a very strong healing factor. But they're also aware they've got weaponry that will eventually kill him, if they do their job right."

Good. Now it was a matter of waiting for Hyde to return.

"Shall we go in? I've got a button to acquire."

* * *

It was a wonderful August day; sunny, dry, hot. Hank didn't feel capable of enjoying it, though.

"You got to relax," Bobby informed him between beer sips, sitting on the kitchen table. "Isabel is out of danger, isn't she?"

"It isn't that simple," Kitty explained for Hank. "She's acting in a strange way."

"And how do you know that?" He pointed out. "For all we know, she might actually be showing her true colours now. I mean, what makes you so sure that the Isabel we've all seen around wasn't just pretending to be nice and friendly?"

"And in reality she is stubborn, irrational, depressed and probably suicidal. Do you _really_ think so, Bobby?"

"I was thinking more in the lines of anti-social."

"Can you just stop and think about what she went through?"

"Robert, Catherine, please." Hank waved away Kitty's apology, but he was truly feeling upset. "Isabel does not trust me. I have tried everything in my power to make her understand that I intend to respect her wishes, even if I don't agree with them, but still she distrusts me."

Bobby slapped his friend's back, offering a just uncapped beer.

"I know, Hank. It really sucks. But you can't let it get to you."

"Thanks, Bobby." He took a sip and shot Bobby a dirty glare. "You have frozen it."

Bobby's genial smile was unbeatable, though.

"Have I? Sorry, must have slipped..."

Giving in to temptation, Hank flinged the bottle at Bobby.

"Heads up," the quickly iced-up mutant hollered, eluding its trajectory and turning the projectile into a ball of ice.

"Careful!"

But it was too late for Kitty's warning, as Logan opened the door and barely had time to unsheathe his claws and swing at the incoming ice slug.

"Having fun?" He growled.

"Why are you looking at me? I was just helping Hank test your reflexes... You know how doctors love testing reflexes."

The man snarled, unamused, and entered the kitchen, heading for a beer.

"I thought you said you were going to get Creed for a training session," Kitty asked.

"Scott was. And is. I ain't in no mood t'hear 'im growlin' again."

"Ah," Bobby grinned. "He's still sulking that he can't see Isabel, huh?"

Logan snorted and took a long sip.

"Damn, it's hot today."

"Maybe I should go and ask Lilia if she wants to play in the swimming pool." Kitty got up and sighed. "Sometimes I think Creed is manipulating the girl, making sure that she keeps asking for him. I mean... have you ever overheard him coaxing Lilia into asking about her mother, or wanting to see her? The poor kid is so confused and it doesn't look like he's helping her to overcome it!"

Logan considered the idea but didn't comment. Hank sighed.

"Yes. She grew quite a degree of resentment towards her mother."

He leaned on the wall and sighed.

"It has occurred to me that the girl may require therapy to overcome it, but Emma assured me that a child's natural reaction to a stressful event tends to involve outbursts of various natures as well as nightmares. It is considered a natural coping mechanism and, once the child is reassured all is well, the situation should resolve itself. Therapy will only be encouraged if the abnormal behaviour intensifies or, alternately, does not abate over the course of a few weeks."

"The question is if she is getting reassurement from Creed," Bobby grumbled.

Hank shook his head.

"I do believe he is doing his best to assuage the child's fears sensibly, and Emma concurs. However, I'm not so sure if he's doing anything to mend the damage to the bond between mother and daughter. Unfortunately, Isabel isn't helping either." He shook his head. "I don't understand. First, she threatened bodily harm to all and everyone in order to leave the infirmary; now, she refuses to set a foot outside, even if it is to spend time with the child."

"At least Jenny convinced her to start eating. Maybe she should talk to her again, make her realise that Lilia needs her around."

"Hmm." Logan opened the door and shook his head. "Or maybe ya should go an' get the girl out o' the way t'see if Scotty can manage t'drag Creed's ass inside."

Kitty nodded and set off.

Bobby sat on the counter, having gotten a second beer.

"Has he... you know, growled at the kid or yelled at her or something?"

Logan shook his head.

"It's like ya said, he's sulkin'. And since the kid starts cryin' whenever he's away fer longer than an hour or so, he knows he can get away with anythin' short of attackin' someone."

"So..." Bobby, frowned, his voice revealing irritation. "He probably _is_ fueling the kid on, telling her to keep on asking for him."

Hank shook his head vehemently.

"That is not my impression at all," he cut in. "Lilia is feeling very insecure and frightened, which is further compounded by her prolongued presence in an environment she does not feel at home in. Isabel's miscarriage was three days ago, it is only natural she wishes to cling to her father as a source of assurance and normalcy."

"Hm. Anyway, if he is fuelin' her on," and Logan dropped the beer bottle into the rubbish bin, "he'll have t'backtrack real soon. Bishop an' Cannonball are just finishin' collectin' intel on Gautier's, and he can't have the kid cryin' fer him at every hour o' the day and night once we decide t' make a move. Especially 'cause he needs t'go back t' Paris under the guise o'Hyde ta finish gettin' information out o' Mystique. Bishop said she's started buyin' stuff at Gautier's auction house, some online, some directly t' the auctionin' house. We gotta find out what she's payin' fer."

"But what if he truly is distressed himself?" Logan looked quizzically at Hank's suggestion. "Emma is able to sense how turbulent and intense his emotions are at the moment."

"Yeah, but she also said Creed's in love wi'the woman."

Hank sighed at the gross exaggeration.

"Emma's words were 'some semblance of affection', Logan, and that's hardly being in love."

"Ya know what he told Scott," of course he knew! Hank had heard the same words too. "He thinks he owns the woman."

Again, he was perfectly aware of that. There was a reason Hank had joined Scott's design of guiding Isabel away from her subservient role in the bizarre relationship she and Creed somehow maintained.

"The only thing causin' intense emotions here is him thinkin' we're tryin' t'get her away from 'im."

Hank almost suggested rephrasing Logan's idea to replace 'thinking' with 'knowing'.

"But if he can't keep himself together in the Danger Room, there's no point sendin' 'im t' Paris."

"Forget the Danger Room," Bobby grumbled. "If he can't keep his temper in check when anyone's around, how's he gonna keep his cover with Mystique? He'd probably lose it and would try to gut her the first time she aggravated him over anything."

"And t'make it worse," Logan pointed out. "Last night, Mystique went out and impersonated Sabretooth _again_. We can't stick around with our arms crossed fer much longer! And if Creed's serious about puttin' an end t' these assholes, he has better shape up."

"Well, why don't you tell him Mystique's impersonating him?" Bobby suggested. "That would motivate him to go back to Paris and fix the situation, wouldn't it?"

"It'd also motivate 'im t' kill her 'fore we could get any proper info, so that idea's off the table." Logan grunted. "This keeps on fer much longer and I'm goin' over Summers' head. I'll head t' Paris alone and I'll have a very final chat with Mystique."

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If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	16. Night Blues

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

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 **16\. Night Blues**

It was Wednesday. Two more nights and it would be a week since Creed had last slept properly. The man frowned. He couldn't keep it up, the way things were going. Sure he had a great resistance and could go plenty of days without sleep but... there was usually just a little bit of adrenaline around to juice him up, when that happened. This time, there was no adrenaline, and the sleepless nights were simply making him irritable to everything. Well, everything except his Little Devil, thanks to his animal side. If he didn't rely on his instincts as much as he did, he'd probably have snapped at her too. Fortunately, a whiff of her scent was enough to soften his worst irritation.

Creed closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. Not that he had any hope of actually falling asleep, despite feeling tired and even sleepy. The scent of the woman was too strong and it kept him awake. Which was stupid! The woman's scent usually had a calming effect on him. He never slept as relaxedly as when he was in their house, the woman and the child's scent strong all around him.

Irritated, Creed got up and his eyes fell on Lilia's sleeping frame. It worried him that she didn't ask about her Mamma. Had the harm been so deep? He hadn't wanted to pressure the child before she was ready, pushing her into her Mamma's arms when she didn't want to, but he had been certain that Lilia would miss her and ask for her of her own accord. Now, though, he was beginning to wonder when she would miss her Mamma. It cut him up inside and made him want to go berserk! He had brought them here to keep them safe, and instead… it was all falling apart around him and he had no idea how to fix it.

Pacing silently about the room, as he had gotten used to doing, he checked the story books on the desk, the coloured pencils and the crayons, the mirror... he always hoped it might help the clock tick the night away, but it never did. He opened the door to the bathroom and opened the tap to drink some water. Four nights ago, Lilia had woken up screeching for him when he had done the exact same thing; this time, however, she just whimpered, turning around inside the sheets. Creed looked at his reflection on the mirror over the basin. He looked like crap.

"Pappa..."

"Pappa's right here, Lilia."

However, he didn't rush to her side. She had to get used to the fact that he wasn't going to spend every night by her side. Perhaps it would be easier when Isabel returned to the room. Which led to another question: when would Isabel leave the infirmary? He had overheard some whispers that the woman was refusing to leave it, even though McCoy wanted her to return to her room.

"Pappa," she insisted, her eyes fluttering open.

With a tired sigh, Creed walked over to her bed.

"Pappa's right here, Lilia. Now quit yer whimperin' an' go right back t'sleep, ya hear?"

Lilia's hot little hand grabbed a finger and Creed didn't take it away.

"Don't go away, Pappa," she mumbled as she drifted back to sleep.

He didn't understand why his baby girl kept having that nightmare where he up and left her. She had explained that, in her dream, he had abandoned her, all alone in a big empty house, because she was afraid. It didn't matter that she agreed he would never do that, once she fell asleep, her fears resurfaced.

Crouching by the bed's side, he ruffled her hair gently. His precious little devil. Isabel must miss the girl painfully. Then why didn't she return to her room? Was she afraid to force her presence and that Lilia might reject her? As much as he hated it, she might be right; Lilia could indeed reject her presence. The problem was that Creed didn't know how to fix the problem beyond giving the child time to overcome that irrational fear.

No. He definitely couldn't carry on like this. He gently removed his finger from the girl's grasp and resumed his pacing. He hadn't seen Isabel since last Friday, when he'd taken Lilia to the sleeping woman's side.

Pacing crossly, the image of the woman's thin, pale face before him, he felt irritated, his hands itching with the need to do something. He opened a drawer. T-shirts looked up at him. Creed turned around and opened a closet door. A pillow sat lonely on a shelf, the woman's guitar case sitting lonely on a shelf below. He hesitated. It was Isabel's most precious possession and she guarded it with religious jealousy. It was an undeniable symbol of Isabel's presence, as strong as her very scent.

In a sudden whim, he picked up the case and took it to the bed, where he sat down. Opening it, he carefully removed the musical instrument. It had nothing particular about it, although even he could recognise the material's quality. He felt its strings and didn't resist plucking one of them, letting a lonely note reverberate in the darkness. It sounded eerily, sending shivers up his spine. He had never had anything against the sound of the darned thing, which he supposed had some pleasant peculiarities; but the one thing he had never really stood were the songs Isabel chose to play on the guitar. Some of them weren't that bad, one in particular was perfect, but... she had that way of singing as if she felt every word in the lyrics, and it annoyed him that the chosen lyrics were often about tragedy and resigned hopelessness. He had given her a good life, dammit; why did she feel the need to wallow in sadness and hopelessnes? And yet, right now, he'd have given anything to hear her voice wallowing in the most depressing hopelessness.

He missed the woman. As much as he hated to admit it, he was too tired to refuse the evidence: he missed her. He missed her so much it hurt. So much that he'd even cried for her, once, in the shower. He missed her so much, that, adding up the five nights he'd barely slept, he was holding on to his temper desperately. Summers was right, he was on the verge of going berserk. If he kept on snapping at every stupid little thing, as he'd been doing, Summers might even have enough and decide he needed to cool down in his cell. Creed just couldn't control himself! What he really needed was to be with Isabel, make sure she was ok. And to sleep, too.

He sighed of irritation and, to get rid of the sudden whim to break the damn guitar to pieces, he put it back inside the case and returned it to the closet. He needed to get some sleep. Maybe he should change the bed sheets after all. No. He would lose the only thing that still held Isabel's scent, since it had slowly been fading from everything else. He had to stop obsessing over the woman. If only he could see her, talk to her, feel her scent, touch her.

Maybe he could run off to the infirmary. He could grab Lilia and make a run for it. His bracelets would warn the others the moment he left the bedroom unattended, but maybe he could be fast enough to get there before everyone else did. Perhaps he could be fast enough to kiss his sweet Nesi and breathe in her scent, to tell her it was ok, everything was just fine. Fast enough to hold both mother and child tight in his arms. He wanted to do that so badly, so badly that he closed his burning eyes. He could tell everyone he'd just wanted to take Lilia to see her Mamma.

As if that would work! He whimpered under the pain in his chest. They'd lock him up. They were all dying to kick him out of the way and he couldn't risk being locked away from his baby girl. He'd simply have to suck it up and hang on, pain or no pain. Just then, he smelt Logan's scent approaching and the burning pain turned to reassuring hate.

The man didn't have to knock on the door: Creed was already opening it with a snarl.

"What d'ya want?"

Logan frowned.

"We just got news from Bishop and Cannonball: a bunch o' files on folks who've done biddings at Gautier's online auctions. Summers wants everyone down t' go through them and single out our targets on the Eastern Coast."

Great. When he wanted to see some action, or at least some paper trail to go through, there was nothing, and now that he could use some down time, it popped up. In the middle of the freaking night, on top of it! And what about Lilia? He couldn't leave her alone.

"Ya're comin' or what?"

"Shut yer yap an' get lost, dumbass. I'll be down in a minute."

He closed the door on the runt's face and looked at the sleeping child. He'd just have to take her with him and hope she didn't wake up.

He quickly put on a shirt then picked up the sleeping girl, who snuggled more closely, wrapped in the sheet she had had over her. As if on purpose to annoy him, the runt was still in the corridor, ostensibly waiting for him, and frowned at seeing Lilia. Creed snarled, dying to bust his face. Anyone's face.

"Ya got a problem?"

" _I_ got a problem? Ya're the one carryin' the kid around, bub."

He walked away, but Creed still saw the sneer on the man's face and his claws unsheathed of their own accord.

Creed expected the meeting to happen in the underground complex but Logan led him to Summers's office instead. The mighty leader and Rasputin were already inside and, despite knowing there was a sofa inside where he could lay Lilia down, Creed decided to leave her in the waiting room. As he tucked her in, he heard Logan warn the others he'd brought 'the kid'. With a growl, he followed the man inside.

"The _kid_ has a name, boy. And ya don't show some respect, I'm gonna hav'ta teach ya some, ya moron."

"Give it a break, Creed! This is work time, not babysitting time. We've got hundreds of files to go through, so settle down and focus."

He couldn't stop the snarl any more than he could stop the growl, but he did manage to keep his claws sheathed.

"If ya don't wanna hav'ta babysit, Summers, I suggests ya keeps yer voice down 'fore ya wake the girl up."

"Can we start now?" Rasputin seemed annoyed, which further aggravated him: he was the one with plenty of reasons to be annoyed, irritated, angry, destroying everything around. He was the one in pain.

Logan stradled a chair and looked up at the screen, but Creed could see he had an eye out on him. Unable to stop the growl, he sat down too, while Summers displayed the first face of the night.

"Focus," Summers said once more. "If you are serious about this, Creed, focus and let me know if you recognise anyone. We need all the information we can get on these people. You know that, so do your job."

Creed took a deep breath and did his best to get rid of the pain and frustration. Summers was right. His daughter's safety depending on dismantling this group. He had to swallow everything down and do this right.

"Jean Rochefort; 42 years old; French by birth; radicated in Los Angeles; single; travels between Europe and the States at least once a month. He's an architect and designed Vincent Gautier's auction house in the outskirts of Paris. No criminal record."

Creed focused on the clean-shaved face, the brown eyes, the ordinary looking face. It could be any harmless businessman. And yet...

"What company does he work for?"

Summers checked the papers.

"Hmm... Been working with TradBuilt, Inc. for 21 years. Do you know him?"

"I know the company he works for..." Creed narrowed his eyes, trying to remember any details that might include that particular face. "Needed some help wi' the competition a few years back, but it wasn't him who did the hirin', so I can't say fer sure if he was in it or not. I went t' their office back then, and could have noticed 'im fer no particular reason."

"When was that?"

The bile burst before he noticed it was there to be burst at all: "How the hell should I know? Does it look t'ya like I keep a blasted diary or somethin'?"

"Creed," the mighty leader started sternly. "It's about time you start getting your temper back in check if you don't want to regret anything."

Fingers itching, he growled again.

"I don't. remember."

He had to control himself. He had to control his temper. He had to.

"If the company is, or was, involved in illegal maneuvers, then perhaps we could use it to get started." Rasputin suggested, making a note on a netbook. "Jubilee can tip the FBI for them to dig some dirt and then we'll see if our man is involved in any of it. I'm sending her the file to see what she can do."

"That's good thinking. Next, then." Had Summers said hundreds of files? This was going to take forever! "Patricia Olwen, 23. Irish descent, third generation New Yorker. She's a part-time courier for Vincent Gautier on the Eastern Coast. When someone buys something over his online services, he uses different people and companies to deliver the purchased goods. As far as we can tell, Patricia is only contacted to deliver small parcels in the New York City area. We can't be certain of the nature of the material she transports."

The freckled face meant nothing to him, so he turned his attention to the waiting room for a second. No sound. Good.

"Let's assume she's transportin' 50-50 o' legal and illegal material," Logan cut in. "I say we tag her and follow her movements."

"We've got months of work here," and Creed snorted at the Russian's optimism. Months? Try years!

Had that been a whimper?

"That settles it. Next is Joan Jones, 54. She..." Creed got up abruptly.

"Pappa..." The girl's voice stopped the One-Eye's impending scolding, but not Logan's cryptic comment.

"He's made his bed all right."

What the Hell was that supposed to mean?

"Pappa?"

"Hush, Lil' Devil. Pappa's right here; you just go right back t'sleep, ya hear?" A sudden thought had him take off his shirt and cover the child snugly with it. "See? Pappa's right here."

He waited a moment more before returning to the office, closing the door softly behind him.

No one said anything, despite their annoyed expressions, and Creed barely managed to bite down a gruff remark. He had to control his temper. Keep his mouth shut in the very least.

"Joan Jones, 54," Summers resumed. "She's an apparent harmless businesswoman, but she's got quite a long criminal record. Mostly hate crimes against mutants, none of them serious offences. I don't think she's ever had any problems over this record since most of her clients are well-known for their anti-mutant standing."

Folding his arms, Creed clenched his teeth. He'd spent every blasted night wide-eyed in Isabel's room instead of getting some sleep and here, of all places, sleep had decided to get its teeth on him. Almost growling at the aggravation, Creed made an irascible effort to focus. Those were the assholes that needed getting rid of to make sure no dangers lurked around his baby...

"...Jonathan Siles, her son," the picture of a twenty-something year old boy appeared over his mother's, causing the bile he'd been pushing down to erupt, "was arrested once. He was involved..."

"Why the hell are we wastin' time with corpses? That punk's already dead."

Every head turned to him and sleepiness faded. Not noticing he hadn't yet accused himself, he took the already usual defensive stance.

"T'was _his_ fault! I told 'im t'stuff the anti-mutant stickers he was distributing an' the group of assholes brought out the guns. What was I supposed t'do? Give 'em a warnin'? Finished the whole lot, s'what I did. Some folks just oughtta learn how t'take no fer an answer."

Summers took a deep breath that aggravated Creed.

"What?" he bursted one last time before he had enough sense to drag his eyes back to the screen and shut his yap. Control yourself, damnit!

"As I was saying," Summers continued. "Jonathan Siles was involved in the beating to death of a homeless mutant. Later he became involved with Friends of Humanity and died shortly afterwards. His mother, Joan, took the matter to heart and that's when she started attacking anyone related to mutant rights, namely…"

His eyes were burning again. How was he going to be able to keep on controlling his temper? He resisted the need to rub his face and squeeze the burning moist out of his eyes and instead allowed his claws to slide quietly out and into the wooden back of the chair he was sitting on.

"…has made several online bids over rare books but has never actually bought anything. We can't be sure if it's a coincidence or if she's working for Gautier, bidding in order to raise prices."

Breathing out the tension, Creed hoped that asshole calling himself a leader might get it on with, cutting down on the chit-chat and putting on more pictures of folks he knew, one way or the other.

Amazingly he did. He didn't recognise the man, so he could once more focus on keeping his temper under tight wraps. A couple of photos and boringly long biographies later, sleepiness was once more biting him in the ass. Of all the…!

A photo of a woman that he… no, she looked like one of Ruth's girls, years ago, but that particular chick would now be much older than the one in the photo.

Creed blinked a few times, frowning. It was getting very difficult to focus on anything anyone was saying if it didn't bear any immediate connection to him. Damn, he needed some sleep.

The photo changed and he focused his eyes for a moment. But no, it was just another nobody. An annoying little headache pierced through his brain and he sheathed his claws out of the back of the chair before he massaged his forehead.

"next..."

He looked up briefly, then massaged the side of his head, since the headache had moved location. Well, at least Lilia was calm. He really should have thought about it earlier. Having his scent near her all night long, she wouldn't get nightmares where he up and left her.

The springs on the sofa called his attention and he listened carefully. But no, Lilia was neither whimpering nor calling out for him.

"CREED!"

What now? With an aggravated groan, he glared at Summers.

"Are you even looking at the photos? Because you certainly aren't listening to a word anyone is saying, are you? I've warned you..."

"Pappa!"

Creed sprang to his feet, nearly spitting fire.

"There! Ya happy now? Ya just had t'wake her up, didn't ya? Argh! Damn ya all..."

She'd been sleeping so well! She'd never slept so quietly for so long while he was so far away, and they had to ruin it all!

His little girl was sitting up on the sofa, chin trembling, when he opened the door.

"Pappa," she called out to him, little arms outstretched.

With a sigh, he picked her up.

"Pappa's here, Lil' Devil. Go back t'sleep, ok? Just go back t'sleep, baby girl. Please…"

He was both acutely and vaguely aware of the company that had trickled out of the office. The girl's arms wrapped around his neck and he massaged her back.

"That's it. Back t'sleep."

A pity he couldn't do the same, because he was sleepy, too. Sleepy and exhausted like all hell. He sat with a nearly desperate groan, holding her tight and praying she'd fall asleep and keep on till morning.

"'eitinho," she mumbled, eyes closed.

Creed didn't get it at the first time and she insisted: "Qué'itinho, Pappa. 'Eitinho"

Milk was never a bad idea – it might even help her to sleep through the rest of the night in one go, now that she had his shirt with her.

"S'ok, baby girl," he mumbled, going for the kitchen. "Pappa'll fix ya some milk in no time."

Creed didn't realise he'd been followed till he got to the kitchen and Summers opened the fridge door ahead of him.

"Just hold the girl and I'll get the milk ready," he grumbled. In a matter of seconds, the glass was in the microwave heating up.

The four men stood silently in the kitchen, waiting for the milk to heat up. Creed leaned on the counter, ignoring the others, and closed his eyes while massaging the girl's back.

Ding! The door was wide open even before the warning had finished reverberating.

"Here," Summers handed him the glass. "She can drink it in the office. We have two hundred and forty-six files to go through, Creed, and we need to know if you know any of those people."

Creed had an answer on the tip of his tongue but let it go the moment the glass reached his hand.

"It's too hot," and he put it down on the counter. "Get me some ice and another glass."

Opening one door, then a second and a third, he ignored Rasputin's question of what he was looking for and located a big plastic container himself. He filled it up with water and told Summers to add some ice to it. Then he put the glass of milk in the water.

"Creed..."

"If the milk's too hot," he snapped at the Russian with an impatient growl, "she's gonna wake up. The idea is fer it t'be just the right temperature fer her t'drink it an'sleep. Not wake up."

He grabbed the other glass, opened the water tap over it then poured the milk into the new glass. Tasting it, he shook his head and repeated the whole operation. Finally considering it just right he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"In the office," Summers hissed.

But Creed had already sat down so he ignored him. Gently, he removed her arms from around his neck, eliciting a tantrumish groan, and sat the child on his lap.

"If she calms down, she'll sleep just fine," he said to no one in particular

He reached the glass to her lips and the girl started sipping the white liquid, a little hand coming sleepingly up to mock-hold the glass.

"You really messed this up, Creed."

Huh? He looked up at the Russian. What on Earth was he talking about?

"You already spend so much time with her," the man kept on. "Why did you have to push her into demanding you around even more? It's almost like you'd rather spend every day sitting in the house than working on bringing down this slave cell!"

Wait, what was the man trying to say? Creed looked down to make sure Lilia was still drinking before glancing over the men around him. They all had the same expressions. He closed his eyes and shook his head, holding back the twin snarl and growl while trying to make sense of what they were saying. What were they even accusing him of now?

"Jenny was the one who took Lilia to see her mother because you couldn't care less!"

Creed groaned as he finally understood what they were chewing on.

"I didn't do _nuthin'_ , asshole. Lilia got in her head I'm gonna walk out on her if she gets scared: she's havin' nightmares 'bout it every fuckin' night! And since _you_ got it into her head that her Mamma's scared o' me, it follows that bein' with her Mamma means I'm gonna walk out on both of 'em! So if I drop her on Isabel's lap, she's just gonna flip, ain't she? She already flips everytime she don't..."

Creed growled very lightly at himself. He had almost said 'smells me around' and given away she possessed heightened senses. He didn't want them to know that!

Summers sighed and massaged his forehead.

"Why didn't you just say something, then?"

"A hell of a difference that would make," he snarled in a growled whisper. "I can't go nowhere near her Mamma, can I? How the hell am I supposed ta make her realise I ain't gonna walk away from her Mamma when I'm already always away, huh?"

"If you had just _said_ something!" Summers grumbled angrily. "You need to get one thing in that thick head of yours, Creed: you're working as part of a team. You need to talk to us and let us know what is going on instead of keeping us in the dark for whatever stupid reason. Whenever you got a problem, you talk to me so we can solve it. Got it?"

Creed rolled his eyes. As if he was about to...

"If Lilia can't sleep because of nightmares," Rasputin said softly, "shouldn't she… I don't know, shouldn't you take her to a therapist?"

"Don't be stupid," he scoffed. "First of all, Lilia knows damn well I ain't gonna leave her no matter what. It's a stupid fear 'bout somethin' that ain't ever gonna happen, and _she_ knows it. Besides that, kids get nightmares 'bout stuff they're 'fraid of, it's perfectly normal. They can get repetitive nightmares even 'bout stuff they know can never happen. It's normal! Angie says that if the nightmares don't ease up within one t'two weeks, then it's different. But they are easin' up. The first two nights I had to basically hold her hand through the night. Now she's sleepin' fer much longer. It's only been five days, anyways. Fears don't go away wi'the snap of a finger, ya know. It takes time an' patience."

"Who's Angie?"

"Isabel an' Lilia's doc back home," he said, yawnin'. "She got this huge scare when she was two and a half. We were doin' a hikin' in the back country, her first time campin'. She could walk nearly three miles in a go by then. 'Course she was stoppin' t'look at everythin' everywhere so three miles could easily stretch t' two hours an' more!"

He smiled at the memories and, since she seemed to have stopped drinking, he took the glass away and put it on the table.

"My perfect lil' baby girl," he said softly, adjusting her in his arms.

Unfortunately, her eyes started fluttering open and he quickly had her sipping milk again.

"What happened?"

He didn't register who'd asked and carried on without thinking.

"Some assholes had been tryin' t' clone back t' life an extinct bear… I think it's called a short-faced bear or somethin' like that. Anyways, they got a bit too successful an' the animal got away, so they sent a team t' hunt it down. They was huntin' it when the whole group crashed through our trail."

He yawned, his eyes heavy.

"It was this fuckin' huge beast. Over 12 feet tall on its hind legs an' the fuckin' assholes huntin' it, 'stead o'welcomin' my help, decided t'shoot me. Does that make any sense? I could kinda understand if they'd shot me after I had done their job fer them, but they actually shot me the moment they realised I was a mutant. I had barely even charged the fuckin' animal!"

He shook his head and yawned.

"Anyway, Lilia was scared t'death. Spent a few nights cryin' the moment we left her alone, havin' nightmares on top o' nightmares… didn't even wanna go anywhere near a forest, wouldn't get near horses or other large animals. That was a mess. But Angie said not t' sweat it and, above all, not t' push her too far too fast, so we slowly helped her t'get over it."

He once more took the glass away.

"That first week, Nesi and I took turns sittin' next t' her all night long. She stayed the first half o' the night, I stayed the second half. Then she'd have a long nap in the mornin' while I took one in the afternoon. That way, none of us got too wasted. By the second week, Lilia's nightmares were down t' almost nuthin'. A month later she was back t'hikin', though she was still nervous. Three months later, it was as if it had never happened. All it takes is time an' patience."

The girl hadn't budged yet, so he picked her up and laid her little head on his shoulder, taking the chance to kiss her as he rubbed her back.

"There," he whispered, "ya're gonna sleep till mornin' now, ain't ya, baby girl?"

Summers breathed out tersely.

"Do you mean to tell me you've been pulling all nighters since you got back from Paris? That you haven't slept _at all_ in five nights?" Creed growled a warning and the man lowered his voice to an angry hiss. "Damn you, Creed! Why the hell didn't you say something? I'd have given you time off to get some sleep during the day if I had known about it!"

Creed blinked. He would have? But then a grumpy little voice reminded him that he didn't need none of their help. For a moment it pricked up some anger, but it soon died away because, damn, wouldn't he have welcomed the chance to get some sleep.

"Ok. First of all, you're off every training schedule till you've slept yourself back into shape. And you _will_ let me know when the nights are going back to normal so you can get back to training."

Could it really be that easy?

"Secondly, you and Lilia will be having your family meals again. If Isabel can't leave the infirmary, you can have your meals up there; otherwise, you'll eat together downstairs as always."

So… if he had just said... You fucking stupid ass, he berated himself with a growl!

"And since the girl is afraid you will disappear… I was thinking, maybe she could have a cell phone. If she knows she can contact you whenever she wishes, that should help her get over the fear faster, shouldn't it? What do you think?"

"Yeah," but his heart was already leaping hopefully ahead. "And what about sleepin'? McCoy said Isabel can leave the infirmary, she's the one wo refuses t'come out. So… if she decides t'leave tomorrow… Lilia can't fall asleep without me around yet."

Summers crossed his arms, thoughtfully, then shook his head.

"We'll see about that tomorrow."

Yes! They'd have to let him spend the night with Isabel. Hell, yeah! Damn it, why hadn't he brought this up earlier?

"But watch what you say to Isabel, do you understand?"

"She's _mine_!" He snapped, not thinking his words first, but shut up before he could say anything else.

He growled harder. Stupid moron! Why didn't he just up and admitted he missed her like hell to all of them? It was really the only thing he hadn't admitted out loud to the assholes, wasn't it? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Creed, do not ask Isabel why she kept her pregnancy secret, do you hear me? For your daughter's sake, do not scowl at Isabel; do not speak gruffly to her; do not as much as mention the miscarriage or anything related to it. Got it?"

Well, obviously not in front of Lilia! But the moment he got alone with her, they could bet he'd be asking her some tough questions, all right. He wanted some answers, damnit!

"Hey! Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya."

Out of pure habit, he finished the milk and got up, saying she should sleep through the rest of the night now.

"I don't think there's any point in prolonguing this," Summers grumbled. "Take her to bed. Maybe you can get a couple of hours sleep yourself if she can make it till morning."

The idea popped up immediately, urgent and hopeful.

"I could take her t'see her Mamma."

He shrugged as he said it, careful not to look at anyone just in case someone noticed how desperate he was to hear an ok.

"It's four a.m., Creed," Summers said dismissively. "Both Lilia and Isabel are asleep."

Damn it… He wasn't going to let it drop, though. Not this time.

"Ya think Isabel won't wanna wake up to see her baby girl?" He insisted. "She ain't seen her in days!"

"Fine," Summers said with a defeated sigh. Creed bit down the relief and happiness that surged up. "You've got a point. Let's go."

This was actually going to work! He followed the mighty leader, careful not to look as happy as he felt. It worked. All he had to do was say that it was in Lilia's best interest that he was around her Mamma. Why hadn't he thought about it, stupid ass! Stupid, stupid jerk that he was! He had been suffering like a dog for five days for no reason beyond his own stupidity! And Isabel! How lonely she must have felt, how unhappy. No one had to realise he wanted to be with his sweet Nesi. No one had to realise he missed her like crazy. No one except her.

Lilia was asleep in his arms when Summers opened the door. He hesitated switching on the light, but Creed didn't. The woman stirred immediately. Now he had to be careful how he called her. Not Nesi, and definitely not the 'my sweet Nesi' that was burning his tongue.

"Isabel," she opened his eyes and he swallowed down the grin of relief. "Hey, look who wanted t'see her Mamma?"

Isabel got up, blinking in confusion at him and Summers, but she eagerly outstretched her arms the moment he approached.

"A minha menina," Isabel's voice shuddered almost tearfully as she fiercely embraced the child, who stirred in her sleep but didn't quite wake up.

"A minha rica menina," she cooed in whispers, kissing her forehead and rocking her gently.

Creed was not going to be able to stop the grin of happiness for much longer, even if he still hadn't been able to touch his woman.

"Switch off the light, Summers," he said gruffly. "She's gonna wake up with so much light. The idea is fer her t'sleep, not wake up."

Summers hesitated a second, then complied.

"Thank you," Isabel was saying in Portuguese, and he could smell her tears. Tears of happiness and relief.

Why hadn't he thought this up earlier, damnit! The woman had been suffering for nothing!

"Thank you so much for bringing my little girl to me. I missed her so much, so much."

In the dark, Creed sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand over Isabel's, caressing it eagerly, while grabbing the bed with his other hand to stop himself from holding both woman and child in his arms.

By the door, Summers sighed a groan then went over to the desk and sat down.

It took half an hour. Creed was so eagerly expectant, he never even felt any sleepiness. He listened to the man's breathing as he was taken over by sleep in the darkened room. He heard him making himself comfortable. He heard him fall into deep slumber.

Finally.

Isabel was awake, still rocking their sleeping baby girl.

"My sweet Nesi," he barely whispered, cupping her face tenderly.

"Oh, Veetohr!"

He kissed her in the dark, frantically, then he held them tight, her and the child, the exact same way he'd been dreaming about over the last five days.

"Tell me ya're ok, my Nesi," he whispered, his eyes burning with the moisture of pent-up tension. "Tell me everything's ok, my sweet, sweet Nesi. I've missed ya so badly!"

She snaked an arm over his shoulder, piercing his neck with her nails and bringing his lips back to hers. He moaned at the feeling as he kissed her again. Then he kissed her tear streaked cheeks, kissed her eyes, her forehead… He moved back with a sniff of overwhelming happiness and looked into her eyes despite the darkness.

"Ya can leave this blasted infirmary, now," he whispered. "Lilia's been havin' nightmares but she's gettin' better. The important thing right now is that ya can leave and everythin' will be fine again, ok? I promise."

She didn't answer but that wasn't unexpected. Isabel much preferred actions to words, anyway. He moved over and sat beside her on the bed, placing his baby girl's legs over his own, and once more embraced Isabel.

"Ya can get some sleep now," he kissed her forehead, breathing in her scent. "Ya can relax an' sleep 'cause I'll be watchin' over ya both and everything's gonna be just fine from now on. Just fine. I promise you, Nesi. Everything will be fine from now on."

And it was going to be fine. He knew it was.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	17. Sentimentality and Education

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **17\. Sentimentality and Education**

It was Sunday morning. Creed had met Mystique in Paris exactly two weeks ago, even if they had then taken four days beating about the bush before that infamous dinner which had ended in Picard's kidnapping. As a nearby church tolled its merry calling for the faithful to come to mass, Creed knocked on the door to the mutant's apartment. He could hear her laughing a moment later, just before the door swang open.

"Ten days, Mr. Hyde!" She crossed her arms and stretched her body provocatively on the door frame, stopping him from entering. "Ten full days you've kept me waiting."

"Seems like someone knows how t'count."

"Really?"

She had a devilish smile that annoyed Creed. If he weren't under cover, he would have forced her back inside and taught her a lesson she'd have loved in the end. And throughout too, if she hadn't dropped her taste for roughing it. So he did what Sabretooth would never have done in a million years: he turned his back with a shrug and started moving away.

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're going, Hyde?"

"If ya're so worked up over me walkin' out on ya that ya actually counted the days I was gone..."

"Don't be an ass and get in. You're paying lunch, by the way." Creed walked up to the door again and peeked in. Mystique had just gotten to her bedroom and stopped to glare back at him. "And dinn...Why are you standing there?"

"I didn't stop by t'get laid 'fore lunch." Especially because he had more important things to do. There was clear surprise etched on her blue features and Creed let his eyes wander briefly across the bare walls of the square hall. "I just meant t'invite ya fer lunch. Ya know, fer havin' disappeared so suddenly when we had just, hmm... gotten t'know eachother."

Creed had to suppress a laugh at Mystique's frown of shocked incredulity. It wasn't often she got that kind of expression. She put a closed fist on her hip and it immediately reminded him of Isabel. He really was not in the mood to spend time with Mystique, of all people.

"So... when were you expecting to get laid, then?"

He shrugged.

"I got us a table at Le Jules Verne. One thirty. I'll have a car pick ya up at one, if that's ok."

She blinked twice, even more stunned, then shook her head very lightly and said it sounded fine.

"See ya then," and Creed pulled the front door close.

He was aware of her eyes on his back as he crossed the street and got on a rented motorbike. He looked up at her window and raised his hand in a half-salute gesture before putting on the helmet and speeding away. That would have her rolling in curiosity.

* * *

"It's almost one, Creed," Cannonball pointed out. "Ya should be gettin' goin' t' the restaurant or Mystique'll get there first."

He nodded, mentioning he'd be leaving in a sec. Instead, though, he got the phone Summers had given him and headed to a window.

"You've just spent over half an hour on the phone!" Bishop grunted from somewhere.

Creed didn't even pay him any attention. Lilia had been playing with her puppy so he'd been able, for the first time, to actually text Isabel. He had asked about the secrecy over the pregnancy and she'd texted back that she'd thought it was best to keep it secret. There was a lot of ill will around and she'd just…

"why didnt you tell the doc," he'd texted.

"I don't trust him," she texted in Portuguese.

"you CAN TRUST McCoy," he'd sent. "I bet he will keep all the secrets you ask TRUST HIM"

She hadn't answered. He'd sent a few more texts but she hadn't answered any of them yet. He could guess why. She had made the decision she had felt was best and she did not recognise him the right to give her any shit about it. Even if it had been a bad call. It was always the same. Truth be said, her decisions were usually sound enough, but this time…

He pressed the first key and leaned outside. Lilia's voice was soon chirping at his ear, the puppy barking exitedly in the background.

"Pappa!"

"Hey there, Lil' Devil. Pappa's goin' dark, now." She giggled conspiratorily from the other side.

The girl had called him the moment she'd woken up, before seven in the US, and Creed, who'd been expecting it and had hurried away from Mystique's in order to lounge about near the phone, had chatted until breakfast time, always reminding her she wouldn't be able to call him once he had to go out and work undercover. He'd taught her the expression, to go dark, and she had loved it.

"So, what d'ya do now?"

"I wait that you caw," she chirped, though not as giddily.

"And how long can that be?"

"Many, many hou's," she droned, happiness gone. He insisted and she added that maybe even days. Because bad guys don't sleep.

"And what's the first thing Pappa's gonna do when I'm done wi'the bad guys?"

"Caw me!"

Exactly. Lilia had been playing with her brand new 'Pappa phone' for a couple of days now and, though it seemed to help the child feel more confident away from Creed, he was worried about the nights. Summers still didn't want him alone with Isabel, so she had decided to keep on sleeping in the infirmary. That way, the girl could sleep in her arms while Creed slept on another bed under either Summers' or McCoy's steady watch. Far from perfect, but at least the child had been sleeping entire nights, and he'd been sleeping too. Better yet, he'd been able to hold and kiss his woman every single night, while his babbysitter caught some z's. He hadn't dared to bring up the topic of her dumb decision because it would ed up with someone raising their voice - whether it was him, her or both - and being caught in an argument with the woman was a big no-no.

More worrying was the fact that Lilia didn't want Mamma touching _her_ phone. However, Creed knew Lilia was possessive; she had taken after both Mamma and Pappa on that one. They'd see how it went. For now, the important thing was that the nightmares were gone and she was getting less clingy. Besides, Creed had no idea of spending the night with Mystique, so, if this first night without his presence didn't go as smoothly as expected, he'd be able to chat to his girl on the phone.

He heard Isabel's voice then, in the background. Lilia apparently ignored what her Mamma was saying so Creed had to tell her off lightly, remind her to do what she was told. Grudgingly, Lilia piped out 'have fun' before she hung up. Taking a deep breath, Creed glanced about the street. Maybe Pryde was right and they should enrol her for pre-school afterall, keep her too busy with novelty and kids her age to fret over silly childish fears.

"Creed, are you done yet?"

"Yupe."

Time to get back to work: Raven had secrets to spill.

* * *

The early evening was sunny and warm. As Mystique walked up the Champs Elysées, with the Marigny Theatre dead ahead, her eyes looked eagerly for her target. Mystique was not easily put off, but she had to admit Hyde was getting there. As perfect as lunch might have been, he had rejected her advances and taken off. Sure, he'd agreed to have dinner but... why was the man playing hard to get? And to think she had planned a pleasant afternoon before getting down to nasty business. Such a pity!

There he was, sitting on one of the green park benches, all suited up. She paused for a moment, enjoying the view. He seemed relaxed, captivated by a group of children playing with a puppy. On the night they'd spent together, Mystique had almost wondered if he wasn't actually Victor Sabretooth Creed in spite of everything. But Victor Creed being entertained by a bunch of screeching brats prancing over a puppy after having refused sex twice? Never in a million years! He was even smiling. Lightly, but he was.

She kept on walking. He glanced carelessly her way before looking back at the children. She was almost by his side when he got up. He nodded towards the restaurant, Le Laurent.

"Ya do have taste afterall," he smirked cordially.

"You, on the other hand, forgot the bouquet."

He shook his head, the amused smirk getting a bit brighter.

"I ain't the type t'offer flowers. And I didn't take ya fer the type t'wanna get flowers either."

She took his arm.

"Then you were wrong."

He smirked.

" 'Fraid I'm still not the type t'get a woman flowers."

As they walked up to the restaurant, the children and their puppy ran across the path, getting in their way for a moment. Mystique didn't hold back a grumpy complaint over parents who let their kids prance about without supervision.

"They're old enough t' have some autonomy. 'Sides, they's kids! Ya don't expect 'em t'behave like old half-wits, do ya?"

For as long as they didn't behave like young half-wits.

"So you enjoy having kids shrieking about, then? Have you got a litter of them trailing behind you somewhere, huh?"

That struck a cord. He paused and eyed her suspiciously, Sabretoothly.

"If I had a brood somewhere, as ya says, I wouldn't be here. I'd have dropped this line o' work an' gone inta somethin' less dangerous. As fer shriekin' kids... Ya know, I follow my instincts when it comes t'kids. And I've always figured women had the right instincts when it came t'kids, too. Apparently _you_ don't."

Marvelous. Now they were getting into an argument even before sitting down for dinner.

"Shrieking children have nothing of natural. It's a simple by-product of poor parenting." They resumed walking towards the restaurant. "Parents should instruct the children into developing the right skills from an early age, not let them run about without a thought!"

The host at the entrance directed them to their table in the terrace. There was a cover of white fabric that filtered the early evening sun and created a magical atmosphere. Mystique almost wished she had delayed business till the following day. Unfortunately, she couldn't risk letting Hyde disappear again.

"So that speech 'bout parentin'," Hyde resumed as he picked up the menu, "is that from experience?"

She could have told him to stuff it; instead, she thought it over. Carefully. Even if Sabretooth possessed parenting instincts strong enough to overpower his love for the kill, they still wouldn't be strong enough for the man to enjoy shrieking kids. Even if they were his own, she still couldn't picture Sabretooth turning all daddy. He looked at her over the menu and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. For the millionth time, she decided he was not Creed undercover (as if the man had the skills or the self-control to endure a long out-of-character performance).

"Why? You're looking for advice?"

He put the menu down.

"I don't need no advice; I got instinct. That's all I need. You?"

She shook her head and focused on the menu. Asparagus, morels, foie-gras... She'd have the morels for starter. As for the main course, she'd have fish rather than meat. Maybe the...

"That's why ya can work with 'em, isn't it?"

She looked up at Hyde.

"It's nuthin' t' _you_ , that they's kidnappin' kids. I always thought women wouldn't go wi'that kind o' stuff, ya know, on account o' yer motherly instincts. But ya ain't got 'em, so it's all the same t'ya."

This was starting to annoy her.

"You know, _he_ was always going about instincts too. But you and him, you're both wrong. What you're talking about, Hyde, is sentimentality and no, I have no sentimentality when it comes to children."

Hyde snorted and Mystique put the menu down to get her point across.

"Sentimentality, yes! Those instincts you're talking about? They're just mellowing you, softening your predator instincts and keeping you from losing your temper with children. That's why ferals like you need them, because of your short tempers. But what children need isn't softened hearts! Hyde, children are the future of our world. When you let sentimentalities get the better of you, you stop seeing clearly and you ruin that future because you end up raising foolish people that either fall short of their potential or waste it completely. You need to stop and think; and you need to teach children to stop and think from the earliest age too. It's not enough to start working on them when they hit puberty and their powers manifest because by then their personalities are set, with all the weaknesses that the wrong education got into them. As a parent, you have to make absolutely sure they develop the right skills to fulfill their destinies from the very beginning. Or at least as early as possible."

A waiter was coming their way and Mystique opened the menu with a hasty sigh. The fillet of turbot, she decided. But they'd better change the topic before she got indigestion by anger. Hyde ordered meat, naturally. Instincts. Please!

"Ya got really strong views on the subject, don't ya?"

"Experience will always give you strong views," she explained, a bit too grimly for her taste.

Especially bad experiences, her mind added bitterly. But at least she had the chance to fix some past mistakes; most people didn't. Shaking her head lightly, Mystique entwined her fingers and forced a smile.

"But let's talk about you, shall we? I can't seem to shake this feeling that you're trying to avoid me."

"That's 'cause I am," he snorted. "Ya're part o' my original's life and I'm tryin' t'steer clear o' that, remember?"

Oh, yes, indeed.

"In that case, I don't think you're making a very good job of avoiding me."

"No, I guess I ain't."

"I promise you one thing, though," she smiled alluringly. "I'm going to make sure you'll have a night to remember."

There was an expression on his face that had her suddenly annoyed.

"You were _not_ thinking of getting rid of me right after dinner, were you?"

"No, 'course not."

Although that sounded a lot like a yes.

"Good. Because, like I said, I've got big plans for the two of us."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	18. The Action Before the Action

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **18\. The Action Before the Action**

Creed followed Mystique into the nether regions of the city through an ancient cellar. The building had been connected to the catacombs during the German occupation, with a crude 70 feet long downwinding corridor.

"Ya could've warned me t'bring another pair o'shoes," he grumbled as both his shoes and suit started to whiten under the limestone dust.

Mystique laughed. She had returned to her blue shape and was wearing the hiking boots she had previously stashed in the cellar. When they got to the ancient catacomb tunnel, they stopped for a few minutes as Mystique unlocked a rusty scissor gate. Creed had never been to the Parisian catacombs, but he knew they were a labyrinth of quarries, used centuries ago to extract limestone for building purposes. Over the centuries, there had been a few cave-ins but most of the quarrying tunnels remained. In the previous century, some of the tunnels had become ossuaries, open to the public and the tourists, while the bulk of it had been locked down, even if illegally explored, mapped, painted and turned into private partying rooms by plenty of people.

"Underground party?" Creed asked to break the silence.

He had never enjoyed the unnerving silence of deep cave systems, or their darkness. His ears were constantly picking up information from the world around him, but down in a cave, there was almost no sound. He could feel vibrations, if the stone around allowed him to, but the lack of the accustomed background noises almost caused him a sense of vertigo. It didn't help that the scents behaved differently, down here, away from wind and normal air movement. And then, of course, there was his vision. He could see well enough in the dark, but that was because his eyes could use the slightest type of light in a way that human eyes simply can't. If you walk deep enough into a cave, though, there's no type of light for any eyes to pick up on. And Victor Creed was certainly not used to being fully in the dark when his ears and his nose were off balance. Not to mention Mystique knew how much he disliked caves.

"Business meeting," she called back softly.

The light of the torch illuminated the pale environment as they followed the winding main tunnel, ignoring the few corridors and passageways that took off in different directions. It was another thing he disliked about deep caves: they destroyed his sense of orientation. Of course he could easily backtrack following his scent, but if for some reason he couldn't, it was very difficult to get his bearings and calculate where he was in relation to the upper world.

"I can think of a whole lot of other _nicer_ places t'have a business meetin' at," he grumbled as he sloshed through ankle deep water.

Obviously, Mystique laughed.

"We're almost there."

She was right, they were almost there. The water gave way to mud and then to dry ground. The echoes of their steps became distorted, alerting to a wider space coming up ahead just before they did enter a broad room with three thick pillars supporting the ceiling. Mystique walked to a generator on the far-off wall, behind some stocky furniture, and switched it on. A crackling start gave way to a yellowish light from half a dozen lightbulbs around the space.

"So, what do you think?"

The walls had been whitewashed decades ago, and there were some very old graffities in French. Creed guessed this had been used by the French resistance and wondered why the more recent bands of tunnel explorers had never come across it. There was a wide, solid table near the generator, with a couple of sturdy chairs and a cabinet. Mystique set her switched off torch on the table and walked around the table towards him.

"Quaint," he said as he also walked up to her, "dirty and uncomfortable."

He could smell the adrenaline on Mystique. It meant the meeting would entail more action than parley. Creed didn't need to smell her arousal to know she was about to get a hold of his belt and unbuckle it. Raven had always enjoyed a bit of action prior to some fighting. The only question was whether she meant to have him as an ally on that fight, or as some sort of sacrificial lamb.

She kissed him demandingly and Creed corresponded to a degree, as his hands pulled her dress up and ripped off her underwear. Raven Darkholme was easily the best lay he had ever had, although she should, with all her experience, not to mention her powers. Up until four or five years ago, if someone were to offer him a choice – Raven or anyone else – he'd have gone for the shape-shifter without hesitation. She was danger and pleasure rolled into one: the threat the renegade woman represented even to him forced his senses to the utmost, which meant he felt, smelled and tasted the experience to a far greater degree. It was intoxicating! Pure ecstasy.

Her legs entwined around him, Creed closed his eyes but didn't let himself go. The intoxication was part of the past. Not that she had lost her touch or creativity, Raven was still the best screw you could get, but... It was great for that moment. Once they were done, he needed to be back on his guard because you could never really let your guard down with Raven. He'd learnt that the hard way – very hard way – with her alias Leni Zauber. You did not spill anything to Raven, not your secrets, not your feelings, not your inner-most thoughts, nothing. Isabel, on the other hand, had slowly warmed him to another type of pleasure.

Pushing the shape-shifter's back down on the table, away from his nose, Creed closed his eyes and bit his lip, making sure not a whisper left his tongue. The thought flickered quickly through his mind, that he was simply using Raven's body and she'd be pissed he was not taking her needs into account. Well, fuck her. He was thinking of his Nesi, right now.

She had learnt a lot, in the last six years, but she could never reach Raven's level since she was not a shape-shifter capable of molding both her outer and inner body in ways that were simply beyond words. The inner part, especially. But what she lacked during, she more than made up for in the after. Because you can have all the pleasure you want and never actually feel satisfaction, always wanting those moments of pleasure to continue on and on. But Isabel gave him a satisfaction he had never experienced; the very simple ease of relaxing, knowing she was not about to stab him in the back. Knowing his tongue could slip all it wanted because she would rather die than let anyone as much as dream what he thought and felt. Of course there was always danger associated to that type of relaxing, but it only meant the outside world could attack him when he wasn't looking, whereas with any other woman, he was always expecting them to attack him themselves, in some way.

Ah, his Isabel! He would have given a lot to replace Raven with his woman right now. Love was for losers, like his Lil' Devil had told Wagner once. The most over-rated feeling ever! Now trust, that was something real. If you could really trust a woman the way he could trust Isabel… even if he didn't go around telling her about his past or sharing any secrets, he knew that he could if he wanted to. And that feeling of trust was as powerful as Birdie's old glow. It made the before more arousing, the during more intense, and the after pure satisfaction. So much so, that simply thinking about it made him come, rolling his woman's name hungrily in his mind.

"Wait a minute! Is that it?" Creed pulled his pants up and quickly got out of the shape-shifter's range, just in case. "You're not going to make me come, you selfish bastard?!"

He was playing with fire now, but he didn't care. Raven had been the one to teach him that thinking about a woman's pleasure was in his best interest. At least with Raven it was. Creed only bothered to think about the woman when he felt like it, though, or with some very specific women. Like Raven; or like Ruth, though not so much when it came to her girls. Isabel didn't really count because, whereas he made sure those women were enjoying themselves because they would go the extra mile for him, Creed actually enjoyed witnessing Isabel's pleasure. It was a different thing altogether.

"Blame it on this rat-hole," Creed shrugged, buckling his belt. "It ain't exactly the most romantic place in town, is it?"

He actually laughed when Mystique echoed the word 'romantic' in angry disbelief. It was a code Isabel had started, really. In between them, romantic now stood for any type of foreplay or anything that was a turn-on. And those catacombs couldn't be more of an unromantic turn-off.

"Look, why don't we get outta here an' go t'yer place, huh? I promise it'll be much more fulfillin'."

Mystique was beyond pissed as she adjusted the skirt of her dress and glided around the table, towards the cabinet that stood next to the generator. Well, what was she going to do against him? Hmm… maybe try to force him to go back without a torch, he wondered as he realised the woman had both torches and was putting them away in the cabinet. The door was ajar and he couldn't tell what was inside. He decided to play nice as she was putting something over her head, whatever it might be.

"Ok, if I knew ya was gonna get that ticked…"

She turned suddenly, and Creed frowned as he recognised a set of night-vision goggles on her head and a gun in her hand. As if that could stop...

"I know who you are," his blood froze so suddenly he couldn't have moved even if he wanted. "Tigard."

Oh, what a relief! Partially. For a moment he had thought she'd seen through the ruse and…On the other hand, if she knew he was Tigard, did she also know about...

"If you don't want to relive the wounds you got last month, in Philadelphia," icy fear coursed through his veins, his eyes now glued to the deadly weapon. "You will do _exactly_ as I say."

The lights went out then and Creed blinked against the sudden darkness, so complete even his sensitive eyes couldn't distinguish the slightest outline. He could hear Mystique's breathing some feet ahead, as well as its echo reverberating through the room; and he could smell her. She was still angry.

"Call your _team_."

"The phone ain't gonna work down here," he said slowly, as he redrew the map of the area from memory. The echo of their voices, apparently coming from everywhere, didn't help; it was like a freaking mirror house for sounds.

"With X-Men technology? Do you really expect me to believe that?" The only exit was that tunnel to the left, some feet away. "Stop wasting my time!"

He reached for his pocket and got his phone out, its pale electric light breaking through the darkness. He could see Mystique had just pulled the goggles up, so he wouldn't be able to blind her with a sudden flash. If it were anyone else, he would try to run off to one side and then charge, but Mystique was too experienced not to shoot him at least once and he was not going to risk a bullet to his torso, not when McCoy and his infirmary were four hours away, not to mention the long winding tunnel he'd still have to go through.

"How did ya find out?"

She sneered.

"It would be very callous of me if I didn't keep tabs on new members of the X-Men, wouldn't it?"

But did she know about Isabel and Lilia? If she did, he would have to kill her. Or better yet, he had to kill her no matter what she knew now, because she could always figure it out later.

"Phone Cyclops. Tell him you have come across a room that can provide some interesting information and that you want Wolverine's assistance processing the area to identify people by scent."

"Wolverine," he asked, frowning.

"Yes, Wolverine. He can come with company, but Wolverine must come in. Tell him to enter the tunnels through the man-hole on Rue Sainte-Marie, by the Italian restaurant. In the tunnels, he should go towards the North and keep walking until he comes across a unit of police officers patrolling the tunnels, looking for illegal explorers. He should identify himself as an X-Man so the officers will dispense a man to take him to the room you're processing. Make sure he understands there is no danger whatsoever and that the officers are both friendly and speak English."

He nodded slowly. Why was she after Wolverine?

"So I lure Wolverine down here fer yer friends t' capture, is that it?"

"To kill him," she corrected. "If my _friends_ succeed in terminating him, you get to walk free. Otherwise, you're the one who dies, so I hope your survival instinct makes the right choices. Now make the call and put it on the loud speaker."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't need anyone else," Cyclops asked as Bishop searched frenetically for a map of that section of the tunnels.

"If ya got anyone else with heightened senses," Tigard spoke slowly, intentionally. "Feel free t'send 'im too."

"What about Mystique?"

"She's gone. Oh, by the way! Wolverine had better bring lights t'last us some good hours. If the batteries die off... it's absolutely pitch dark down here, ya know. Even fer my heightened senses."

It suddenly made sense, the strange sound a few minutes ago! Wolverine, opposite Cyclops, mouthed 'the generator' as he slid a finger over his throat. Cyclops nodded in agreement. After all that mess with Isabel's miscarriage and Lilia's misunderstandings, Cyclops had insisted that the phone Creed carried was to be always on surveillance mode during the mission, constantly transmitting whatever was said and wherever Creed went. Just in case the man went accidentally berserk if Mystique revealed she'd been impersonating Sabretooth. He couldn't have made a better decision.

"Okay," Cyclops said, trying to make his voice sound casual. "He'll be on his way shortly. Hang tight."

He switched off and looked around. Gambit and Cannonball were ready to enter the tunnels after Creed. The locator on the phone was strong enough that it had transmitted a clear picture of the path and, in the meantime, Bishop had managed to find a map of the area.

"Well done," Mystique's voice sounded softly, "now destroy it."

That was not good. Logan had already warned them that their senses got slightly eschewed in deep underground systems, especially if the walls were irregular and damp, which meant Creed was at an unusual disadvantage. Worse: if they were in the dark, both Gambit and Cannonball would have to go in without any lights and they hadn't exactly packed night-vision goggles.

"Ya're jokin'," Creed grumbled. "If we're gonna hav'ta wait here in the dark till yer boys take care o' Wolverine, the least ya could do was let me play a bit o' candy crush. This is gonna be mind-bogglin' borin'!"

"He's keepin' up his cover very well," Wolverine commented dryly. "I bet he's gonna give it his best t'get outta there as soon as possible."

Mystique was laughing freely, truly amused. At least from the sound of it. If Creed could find a way of talking her into letting him keep the phone…

"But we won't have a clue what that is if we lose the audio," Cyclops grunted.

"You couldn't be further from Sabretooth, could you?" Mystique was saying.

"And she can still just shoot him," Cyclops shook his head. "If she really is packing those toxic bullets and he gets a shot to the chest, he's as good as dead. We won't be able to get him back to the Institute in time to save him."

"...livin' in the past," Creed snorted in the background, getting Cyclops's attention to the screen, where a map of the tunnels had been combined with the red dot which marked Creed's position. As much as he didn't care for the man, he was not about to sacrifice him. And much less Wolverine.

"The same thing applies to you, Wolverine, because those officers will have the toxic bullets, too."

The feral frowned but didn't say anything. In the short silence, Mystique's voice rang clear and passionate: "I'm not living in the past, you asshole. I'm living in the future. _For_ the future!"

"I bet she's countin' on usin' my death t' raise the price on those slugs an' make herself a richer future," Wolverine mumbled before looking Cyclops in the eye. "We gonna wait much longer?"

No, they couldn't, but still...

"Gambit, Cannonball," Cyclops looked at both men. "Get going on the extraction. Sam, try to use your speed to apprehend Mystique before she can shoot anyone. Our best option is you getting Tigard to safety as soon as possible. Use your lights while you can and Bishop will warn you when they'll become visible to Mystique. You'll have to be really fast at that point or you'll basically sign Tigard's death sentence."

"I'm not going to say it again, Hyde. I'm sure you don't want me to change my mind and kill you too, do you?"

"Have you got the maps for the tunnels under Rue Sainte-Marie, Bishop?"

"Still workin' on it."

"Fine," they heard Creed grumble slowly. "But ya better not think I'm gonna let my life be decided on someone else dyin' or not."

White noise. Wolverine killed the sound and got ready to walk out but Cyclops grabbed his arm.

"You're wearing body armour. Take civilian clothes so you can put your jacket over the vest and hide it."

"It's August and it's hot," Bishop pointed out. "It'll look odd for him to have a jacket zipped all the way."

Obviously.

"Have you got any better ideas?"

No. Neither did Logan, who was already changing clothes without a single word against it. They'd all seen what that toxin could do, after all, and Cyclops had always guessed one reason Logan didn't mind packing a tone of physical abuse was the fact he believed himself capable of surviving it.

"Bishop, keep looking through those maps and keep us all in touch." The bulky man looked up from the computer. "I'm going with Wolverine."

"No, ya ain't," Wolverine grunted as he finished putting on the vest.

"I'll stay behind you, in the shadows," Cyclops explained. "You're going to need all the backup you can get."

Wolverine shrugged, not happy with it, and Cyclops put on a vest himself.

"Let's get going then."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	19. Rescue

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

* * *

 **19\. Rescue**

"Mind if I crouch?"

Nervousness was making Creed lose track of how much time had ticked by since destroying the phone. Standing in the middle of complete darkness in a place nearly void of sounds and with very few scents around, it was almost like being in a sensory deprivation tank and that kind of thing did not sit well with him.

"Getting tired already?"

He was still trying to find a way out of the hole he'd got stuck in, but couldn't think of pretty much anything. If he kept optimistic, he could be almost sure the X-Assholes would at least try to get him out. Creed wasn't feeling particularly optimistic though.

"I ain't exactly comfortable an' this could take a while, right? Wolverine still has t'get t'that street ya mentioned, Saint-Mary, an' then he has t'stumble on yer friends. It'll take time."

Of the three pillars supporting the ceiling, the closest to him could offer some degree of protection. If Mystique...

"I suppose so, but I think you've deserved some discomfort. Don't you?"

Damn the bitch.

"And _I_ think ya deserved bein' left hangin' fer bringin' me here in the first place. _Don't you_?" He growled, crossing his arms. "So that makes us even an' since ya probably will try an' kill me, I don't see why I shouldn't just make myself comfortable while I can."

Creed heard her let out an exasperated sigh before starting to move. The echo of her steps made it difficult to pinpoint her location with enough accuracy to attack her, even if there were no toxic slugs, but he could still tell where she was. Right now, she had just finished walking away from the table, although keeping her distance.

"Fine, then. Crouch all you want."

That was better. Nonetheless, he moved slowly, taking the chance to get rid of his shoes and socks while grumbling they were all wet from the water filled tunnel, which was true. As he finally got in position, his weight perfectly balanced on his toes, he was ready to leap towards the partial safety of the closest pillar. All he needed was for the woman to get distracted for a split second. Creed dragged out a bored sigh.

"Has he gotten t'the tunnels yet?"

"Will you shut up once and for all?"

If she got annoyed, she'd either shoot him before time or allow him an opening. He decided that a somewhat childish approach might both fit his Hyde alias and be less trigger happy.

"I would if I wasn't bored t'death!" Poor choice of words, though. "I don't know why ya wouldn't let me play somethin' on the blasted phone."

"Give it a rest already!"

Nope, not exactly the effect he'd been after. He guessed he couldn't press that line of conversation much more because she would no doubt end up shooting him. But if Cyclops was sending one or two of his little soldiers down the tunnel, keeping the woman in a conversation might help whoever get close enough to do something. He started drumming on a knee.

"I apologise if I ain't exactly patient in this type o' situation." She breathed out but didn't say anything. "Ya know, I ain't sure I believe what ya said."

"What?"

Better, much better.

"That ya're gonna let me walk if Wolverine's killed."

There was a relatively long silence before she breathed out a thoughtful 'why not'.

"I don't think I would if I was in yer shoes. Why make a powerful enemy when ya can just get rid of 'im fer good, huh?"

She chuckled softly.

"Maybe I like you."

That wasn't so bad.

"Or maybe..."

Creed reacted instinctively, leaping blindly towards the column. She pulled the trigger an instant before his shoulder bumped onto the stone structure but he was safe. Getting up to make sure his bulk was fully covered, he forced his ears to pinpoint Mystique's position.

"Sorry 'bout that," he called, heart beating hard over the notion he had just gotten himself a bigger chance of surviving the night. "But I'm feelin' much more comfortable now."

She didn't say anything, obviously; no need giving him extra data to pinpoint her location. Creed heard her step to the right and he slowly slid to the left, careful to keep the pillar in-between them. Then she stopped and started walking silently towards the left, so Creed immediately glided to the right. For an unwelcome second, he had a perfect picture in his mind of a three-year-old Lilia doing the exact same thing, only using a tree, to keep herself hidden from her Mamma while playing hide and seek. Except that Lilia had been giggling the whole time.

Focus.

Mystique hesitated for what felt like a long minute before starting to back towards the wall of the room.

"I hope ya like me enough not t'hold a grudge after ya fail t'kill me tonight."

She was silently putting herself in position, though for what he couldn't say. If she was smart – and she was – she'd be getting ready to face off a bunch of X-Men coming to rescue their colleague Tigard. The question was whether those X-Men were so busy keeping Wolverine from getting killed that they wouldn't get to their new pal Tigard anytime soon.

* * *

Wolverine landed on the tunnel and walked away from the steps whyle Cyclops closed the manhole and started climbing down. The stench of damp earth was strong all around him, but he could tell there was no one nearby. The attack would naturally happen farther from quick exits.

"Bishop?" He called through the intercom.

"Gambit and Cannonball are half-way through the tunnel," the man's voice sounded uncommonly loud in the silent passage.

The sound of Cyclops's shoes coming down on the ground echoed in ghostly fashion. That blurry echo would make it difficult for Wolverine to locate people and things with precision, but at least all he needed right now was to distinguish between someone coming from behind and coming from ahead.

"Ready?"

Wolverine nodded and started walking northwards in slow, steady paces. Some two hundred feet later, the echo of Cyclops's steps joined the echo of his own. Wolverine focused on the intensity of the sound and registered it in order to make sure he wasn't about to leave his partner behind, in the dark.

It was unsettling, the sound of moving air similar to a distant flowing whistle, especially because Wolverine couldn't feel any air moving about him. Soon though, he reached a crossroads and stopped, moving his torch around as if inspecting the walls to warn Cyclops to cease his march too. He sniffed the air in all directions but everything seemed so similar. The tunnel to his left smelt slightly damper, but that was it.

"Hello, there!"

His shout echoed in all directions and slowly died away. His instructions had been to carry on northwards, but the tunnel he'd been following had snaked left and right a few times and, while he wasn't absolutely sure (it was always tricky, getting your bearings right when deep underground), he could've sworn the left tunnel was the one closest to being northward. Was he supposed to go with his sense of direction or should he carry on the originally northward tunnel?

Onwards, he decided, once more moving the torch around to warn Cyclops to resume the walk.

"Gambit and Cannonball are almost there," Wolverine nearly jumped at the unexpected sound. "If you haven't come across anyone, you may want to wait a sec."

Wolverine stopped immediately. The only reason to be walking into Mystique's trap was really to buy Tigard some time: if Mystique had thought he was late for the rendez-vous with her men, she might have killed Tigard before a rescue team had any chance to do something. Of course, she could also have planned to kill him the moment the phone was destroyed.

"Sam's going to fly them both into the room and blast all their lights."

The sudden light would destroy Mystique's night vision, and since Creed would be able to hear them coming before Mystique, he'd be on his guard and ready to jump away from danger. Hopefully.

A sudden noise called Wolverine's attention and he sniffed the air, the torch lighting the area the sound had come from. There was something strange a few feet away. The walls seemed... awkward. He sniffed again, trying to make sense of the strange scents he was getting. They were neither human nor animal... Sudden realisation made him freeze. Mystique's team was wearing something to disguise their scents.

"Tigard's out of danger," Bishop's voice boomed. "I repeat, Tigard's out of danger."

Wolverine's first instinct was to charge. Knowing what he did, though, that was a very suicidal instinct. With a grunt, he turned and ran down the corridor just as the men waiting for him lept out of their hiding and started shooting.

The crossroads was straight ahead. He felt a bullet graze his arm, the shallow wound burning like acid, and another two hit him square on the back. Thank god for the vest, huh? Smelling Cyclops in the tunnel on the right, Wolverine turned sharply into the left one and crouched. This was a much better location for a show down with those ass-holes, even as the wound on his arm hurt bad enough to make him grimace.

The echo made it impossible for Wolverine to tell how many people were running towards him, but it wasn't really important. All he wanted was for the group to think he was running for his life and hurry after him.

Wolverine got his wish. He snikted his claws and sliced the first man's legs, getting a hold of his body as a shield and backtracking enough for more men to pour into the tunnel. He waited perhaps ten seconds and pushed forward, the first man still working as a dead-weight shield. Flashes of red told him Cyclops had jumped the back of the team, but there were still bullets flying and two managed to hit him, one grazing his leg and the other going through the arm that was slashing about. The pain had him roaring and pushing through the dwindling resistance savagely, which earned him another bullet, this time to his head. Fortunately, the toxin could do nothing against an adamantium skull. It still hurt like hell, though, not to mention his brain and ears were ringing from the impact. He hated shots to the head.

"They're all down," Cyclops shouted as Wolverine got rid of his human shield and came closer, getting Cyclops's torch and analysing the hole of the bullet that had gone through his lower arm. It looked as if the edges of the wound were boiling, causing the flesh to recede bit by agonising bit.

"That doesn't look good."

Don't say. He didn't bother answering his partner and instead did what Creed had done for him in July: he used his claws and cut off as much of the burning flesh as possible. Then he repeated the process for the grazes on his upper arm, his leg and his head. There. The wounds were still hurting, but it was nothing compared to the scorching pain of the toxin.

"Let's get outta this hole," Wolverine grumbled.

* * *

It was already past midnight when Cyclops and Wolverine got back to no. 67. It was a beautiful summer night, with crickets chirping eagerly through the second night of September, so Logan had rolled down the car window in order to enjoy the scents and sounds of the City of Lights. Even before Cyclops slowed down the car to park, Wolverine could see Creed leaning out of the window, chatting to his... Hmm. He was texting, actually, so he sure as hell wasn't chatting to the little girl. She might be able to copy letters, but she couldn't very well read text messages, could she? Or maybe Creed had taught her some basic words for her to read. The man recognised the car as Cyclops slowed down, though, and quickly stopped the texting to warn the others. Then he leaned out again and called his daughter. Logan could hear the usual 'hey, Lil' Devil' Creed always started the calls with. Something struck him as odd, but he quickly forgot the matter as he mounted the stairs to the apartment.

"Mystique, she got away," was Gambit's welcome, the moment the front door opened. "Dere was a small tunnel an' she crawled outta dere 'fore we could catch her."

Wolverine flopped onto the couch and asked Bishop for a beer as Cyclops pumped both Gambit and Sam for details.

"Hey, Creed," Bishop called to the other room as he brought the comforting cold drink, "half an hour's long enough, don't you think? Cyclops will need your report, too."

Logan made way for the other man to sit on the couch.

"He's been chatting to the girl ever since we got back," Bishop grumbled. "Not that I got anything against it, but it seems to me like he's spent every minute in this building prattling on the damned thing."

Logan took a long cool sip and shrugged.

"The kid _was_ pretty messed up wi' the whole soap over the week."

Bishop grunted, annoyed, and commented they had ended up with nothing: no Mystique, no idea who she wanted kidnapped, nothing.

"At least she won't be impersonatin' no one else in Paris," Logan finished the beer and placed it on the floor by the couch.

"Creed," Logan looked up at Cyclops before twisting backwards to look at the man frowning under the door frame. "Did Mystique say anything else that can tip us to whom she was after?"

He shook his head.

"I been thinkin' 'bout that whole 'children are the future' talk. Raven ain't never been the type t'pay attention t'kids, whatever the reason."

"So you think what she's planning could involve children," Bishop said, getting up.

Creed leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms.

"Raven gets these bright ideas every now an' then, and when she does, she'll get a plan as fool-proof as possible an' she'll do her best t'make it all work the way she decided."

"What do you mean? What ideas?"

Creed waved a hand.

"Save the world from mutant haters, get revenge from someone who stabbed her in the back, get rid o' humans altogether, help mutants get t' the top o' the ladder... take yer pick! But there's usually this notion o' tryin' t'improve the world, at least fer mutants."

Logan couldn't help snorting at the idea of Mystique trying to improve the world.

"Ya all heard her at dinner, right? That intensity is typic o' Raven when she kicks up a crusade o' sorts. An' then down in the tunnels, the way she said she was living _for_ the future... I think she _is_ on a crusade."

"But children?" Bishop asked again.

"I wouldn't put it past her," Creed shrugged.

"A school," Cyclops said thoughtfully. "To raise a child means to educate. And to educate, you need a school... She mentioned that working on the children after their powers manifest is too late."

Logan nodded. It made perfect sense except for one little thing.

"But then why did she go ta all this trouble o' tryin' t'get me killed? If she's workin' on such a grand project, it seems t'me she wouldn't want the X-Men on ta her."

"Not unless she thought ya was an obstacle t'get what she wanted, or unless someone promised t'finance her if she got rid o'you in exchange." Creed suggested, and Logan nodded in agreement. "Anyway, I've already warned Isabel I don't want her or Lilia outta the house fer no reason whatsoever."

"You think she'll use them to get back at you over this?"

"If her plans go down the drain 'cause she didn't snuff Logan," Creed snorted at Bishop. "She'll be rippin' heads off anyone she can blame, and ya can bet Tigard'll be at the top of 'er list. I'm her newest pet grudge."

"OK," Sam cut in, "let's get back to this school idea. How will Mystique know which children will manifest powers? Even if she only targets former mutants' children, it's highly unlikely they'll all manifest as mutants. What is she going to do? Test them all?"

That would be a waste of time and money. Hank had mentioned before that it was difficult to accurately identify the mutant gene when it lay dormant: you could get true positives, but you could algo get false positives and false negatives. Only when the gene was active, or in the process of becoming active, could technology correctly identify mutants.

"Maybe she wants to raise an army of pro-mutant soldiers, whether they're mutant or not," Bishop volunteered.

While it was a fair hypothesis, Logan wouldn't bet on it. He couldn't see Mystique bothering with baseline humans long enough to raise a bunch.

"Non," Gambit shuffled his cards. "The femme has too much hunger fer power. Remember dat she wanted Rogue t'absorb Miss Marvel's power so she would be more powerful. I say she got information on a few children dat were born wid powers. Or maybe Addler, she left anoder diary identifyin' future powerful mutants."

"That's it!" Creed blurted, suddenly alive and stepping into the room, towards Gambit of all people. "Adler said somethin', way before Raven had Rogue absorb Miss Marvel. Raven mentioned it once. She said she couldn't see how Rogue could ever... what were her exact words? Be or have a powerful future? Somethin' like that, but more in the sense o' creatin' or causin' somethin' t'happen, ya know? Anyway, the thing was, Raven couldn't understand how Adler's prediction would happen when she'd also predicted Rogue would never truly control her powers."

"I don't see where ya goin' wi'dat, homme."

Logan couldn't either. Not unless Mystique was planning to kidnap Rogue in order to somehow make Addler's prediction happen. But what did that have to do with starting a school for mutant kids? Oh...

"Think about it," Creed insisted, looking intently at Gambit. "Tell me one way o' creatin' a powerful future that needs touchin' folks."

"The twins," Logan said. "Addler meant her kids would be powerful."

"Mon dieu," and Logan could smell the Cajun's fear.

"Rogue was always her lil' pet project," Creed added. "An' she was proud as hell over everythin' the girl accomplished, every victory, everythin' that made her stronger. Hell, she must 'ave gone ballistics when she heard Rogue was pilin' power-innibitors on herself an' basically tradin' off her mutant powers fer bein' a mamma."

"But she can't get to them," Cyclops frowned. "Rogue is so protective of the children, so careful... There's no way someone will be able to kidnap them."

Nevertheless, Gambit was already making the call. "Anna," he was saying as he walked away from the discussion.

"I ain't sayin' she's gonna do it, I'm just sayin' there's a good probability she'll try."

Logan looked at Creed, whose eyes were going through everyone in the room.

"'Course she can," Gambit was saying in the other room. "Don't ya know her! She's capable of anyt'in'!"

"I'd warn Wagner t'get his woman an' kid t'safety too," Creed mumbled. "I mean, the kid may be adopted but his parents were mutants and... well, it don't hurt t'play it safe. 'T least till we know fer sure what she's plannin'."

Logan couldn't help a snort.

"Jenny ain't the type t'accept bein' locked up on her husband's whims."

That got him a snarl.

"Ya're tryin' t'say somethin'?"

"I agree we need to revise security measures," Cyclops cut in before Logan could say anything else. "But locking people in the Institute doesn't seem to be the most sensible approach."

"If it'll keep 'em safe, then it _is_ the most sensible approach."

Logan shrugged. If he were honest, it was also Rogue's approach. You could count the times the twins had been out of the school grounds on the fingers of... better yet, on the thumbs of one hand. And there had never even been a real threat to them before. Rogue was probably going to turn their nursery into a vault now. Cyclops was right, there was no way someone could kidnap the twins; and Mystique probably knew it.

"Maybe she'll aim at the children o' mutants, not former ones," he suggested. "There'll be a bigger chance o' them turnin' out mutants 'emselves."

"There's nothing else we can do here now," Cyclops determined. "Let's go back to the Institute and carefully analyse all the information before we make any rash decisions. For all we know, Mystique could be feeding us the wrong tidbits to steer us away from her real target."

Another possibility, yes. Creed's phone rang and he quickly walked away with the usual 'Hey, Lil' Devil'. Gambit was still talking to Rogue in the other room.

"What if her real plan is to stretch us thin," Cyclops wondered to Logan, Sam and Bishop.

"Then her plan's workin'.

* * *

-x-

* * *

And here it ends!

Creed has hopefully learnt to be more open with his work colleagues

and Mystique has lost a battle.

Next week, starts the new adventure

\- Disasters Come in Threes -

and we'll see how many more lessons Mr. Creed will be able to learn.

* * *

Thank you for having read this far,

and thank you for all your kinds reviews.


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